Traitor
by me 4evaful
Summary: When three members of the Fellowship are captured, one sacrifices his liberty for the other two. But who can tell what that will mean for the future of Middle Earth? AU
1. Orcs

**A/N: I had the idea for this story while I was writing 'Prisoner of War,' so please forgive the similarities in the earlier chapters. They'll be gone by chapter 4, latest, and the story will hopefully be one that's very different. Anyhoo, enjoy!**

Orcs

Pippin woke. At least, he thought they did. It was so hard to tell dreams from reality now. It was all a nightmare. He could hear voices – harsh, cruel, bitter voices arguing about... something or another. He couldn't discern their voices. His head still pounded from whatever had happened to him. Suddenly, mingled with the voices came a very familiar voice, although the venom in it was not so familiar.

"_Back off!_" snapped the voice.

Pippin opened his eyes slowly. He didn't want to see what awaited him when they did. But eventually, he mastered his child-like fear, and regretted it instantly.

He was sitting in the middle of an orc camp.

Only, most of the orcs had their attention focused on something in the middle of the camp. The remainder... were focused on food.

Pippin could only hope that _he _wouldn't be the one who commanded the attention of the orcs by sitting in pieces on a plate.

There seemed to be a lot of commotion going on in the middle of the camp. Pippin's vision was blurry, but he could make out that somebody was standing in the middle of a ring of orcs.

"Why did you insist on bringing it, Lurtz?" he heard one of the orcs say.

"Well, I thought he might have information!" snapped the orc called Lurtz. "I've seen 'im before. I've fought him in the forest. I know who 'e is!"

"As I recall, when I fought you, you ran away, just like the coward you are," the person in the middle said, and Pippin's heart dropped like a stone as he recognised that voice.

Legolas.

"Shut it!" snapped Lurtz, and they heard a loud crack. Pippin saw through a small break in the orcs' circle that Legolas had staggered, his hand clutching his fair cheek. The orc he suspected was Lurtz was standing in the centre, his hand raised high in the air.

"ENOUGH!" yelled a second orc, who was much larger than Lurtz, as he marched past the elf and stopped about ten centimetres from the orc's face. "So tell me why you caught him, or I swear on the staff of my master that this will be the last minute you ever live!"

"He's the son of the king of Mirkwood!"

"It's _Greenwood_," snarled Legolas from the ground. "It never has been and it never will be Mirkwood!"

The orcs ignored him. "Son of the king of Mirkwood, eh?" said the second orc. "He sent you on your suicidal mission, hm?"

"My suicidal mission to do _what,_ exactly?" Legolas asked him, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. He knew that his mission was probably going to lead to his death, but he wasn't certain the orcs did, and he had spotted an opportunity to figure out just how much they knew.

Lurtz laughed. "Did you tell your daddy where you were going?"

The second orc joined the laughter. Legolas gave a feral growl from his throat.

"What's that?" said the second orc. "You did? Good, then your death won't come as much of a shock to him."

With that, the second orc raised his sword, and Pippin gave a cry of despair that was drowned by the collective laughter of all the orcs in the circle. However, Legolas was too quick for them. Throwing his weight onto one arm, he swept his legs round, catching the orc's, and the second orc tumbled to the ground. Legolas immediately launched himself onto the second orc and the pair wrestled over the sword for a few moments. Legolas, triumphant, raised the blade and was about to deal the deathly blow when an orcish bow sung. An arrow caught the elf's wrist and the knife fell to the floor. The second orc picked up his sword and pointed it at Legolas' throat.

"You appear to be labouring under the delusion that I fear death," Legolas said coldly. "I fear it no more than I fear you."

"So you fear it a lot then?" Lurtz snapped. "Well, it's your lucky day. We'll take him to my master. Along with the two Halflings."

"_Your_ master?" sneered a third orc. "May I remind you that Saruman still serves _my_ master. We'll take the prisoners to the Dark Lord, and maybe, if Saruman still wants to hear what they have to say, he can come in shackles."

"Grishnákh, I would advise you to think very carefully about your next words," snarled the bigger orc, who still had his sword to Legolas' throat. "Because they might be the last words you ever utter."

"Uglúk, let me remind you that you have no authority over me," Grishnákh said, drawing his own sword.

Uglúk's sword suddenly left Legolas' throat and slammed into Grishnákh's. Legolas used this opportunity to remove the arrow from his hand and get to his feet.

Surprisingly, with these particular orcs, size wasn't everything, and Grishnákh had Uglúk on the floor, the point of his sword hovering over where Uglúk's heart must have been.

"I guess that settles it, then," Grishnákh said triumphantly. "We take the captives to Mordor."


	2. Whatever the Cost

Whatever the Cost

Boromir's eyes flickered open. He was back at the camp, and Aragorn was bent over him, fear in his eyes. However, his scared expression was infinitely preferable to the images behind his eyelids, plaguing his rest.

"Boromir!" Aragorn exclaimed happily. "I thought we'd lost you."

Boromir tried to sit up, but the pain in his chest made him wince, and Aragorn pushed him back against the floor.

"What..." he gasped. "What happened?"

"We were attacked by orcs," Gimli said harshly.

It was only now that he saw that, in addition to himself and Aragorn, Gimli, was still in the camp. The was no sign of Merry or Pippin. He assumed that Legolas was keeping watch, as per usual.

"We found you in the woods," Gimli continued. "There were two arrows in your chest."

Suddenly, everything came flooding back to him. The fight in the woods... Merry and Pippin were being attacked... he had rushed to their aid, but there were too many orcs... He'd tried to get help, he'd blown his horn, but then that orcish archer had come... He remembered how it had shot him twice, before a different arrow had hit it in the neck. He remembered how Legolas had then taken the orc on. By that point everything was just a blur. He remembered them taking Merry and Pippin, but Legolas had chased after them, and tried to take them down. That was when his world had faded into darkness.

"Legolas?" he asked, fearing the worst.

Gimli shrugged. "There was no sign of him. No tracks, nothing."

"What about Merry and Pippin? Do you know where they are?" asked Aragorn. "We think Frodo and Sam have gone on ahead, but we don't know for certain."

"I don't doubt that he would have," Boromir said, remembering how he had demanded the Ring from Frodo. How ashamed of that he was now...

"And Merry and Pippin?" Gimli pressed.

"They were taken by the orcs. Legolas went after them, but I don't know what happened to him."

A dead look was in Aragorn's eyes. "If Legolas is alive and with them, then he will look after them," he said at length. "If he's not with them, then he has more of a chance to catch those who took them than we do."

"And if he is... dead?" Gimli asked.

"My heart will not rest until I find out the truth," Aragorn said, ignoring Gimli's question. "We set out as soon as Boromir is well enough to."

"I'm well enough now," protested Boromir.

"You were shot twice in the shoulder, and I spent about an hour trying to prevent you from dying," Aragorn snapped, in a tone that indicated that the argument was over. "I'll not have you undoing all my work."

* * *

_Three weeks later..._

Merry felt his heart freeze as he stared up at the black gate. He had known that this was where he was being taken, but he _had _hoped that either Legolas would have thought of something or somebody else would have caught up with them. No such luck, apparently. Legolas was, to put it mildly, incapable of doing anything. The orcs kept him permanently bound and gagged, and as far away from the hobbits as possible. While they had run across the plains of Rohan unhindered by night or day, they had slowed their pace as they passed over the river towards Mordor.

Merry cast a sidelong glance at Pippin, who was mouthing words soundlessly. It didn't take long to see what he was muttering.

"Oh please, oh please let this be a dream, please don't let this be real, no, no, no, no, no..." And so on.

Behind the hobbits, Legolas stared at the spectacle that loomed above him. He knew now that all hope of escape had gone. His mind wandered back to that day after their assault on Caradhras, when the Fellowship was discussing the road through Moria.

"_Those who pass through the gates of Barad-d__û__r do not return." _

A shiver ran down his spine as the words of Gandalf came to the forefront of his mind. He was loath to admit that he was afraid, yet he could not repress the terror that gripped his heart.

The giant gates opened, and the prisoners were led inside. Merry and Pippin stared around, constantly trying to take in as much about Mordor as possible, but Legolas' keen eyes sought out one thing alone. His eyes met with one of flame, lidless, atop the tower of Barad-dûr.

The doors of the tower – so like the one that plagued his home, yet bigger, darker, scarier – opened, and Legolas and the two hobbits were led inside.

The walls of the hall were lined with red drapes, the floor was a smooth black stone that even Gimli's folk had no name for, and torches hung in brackets twisted out of the same black metal that the gates were made out of. However, the room was surprisingly elegant – Legolas had expected piles of bones to litter the floor.

Suddenly, a deathly cold voice spoke a harsh language that tore at Legolas' very soul. If it weren't for the fact that his hands were bound behind his back, he would have clamped them firmly over his ears.

Yet Legolas turned to see a figure that he had only seen in paintings in Imladris – Sauron.

Sauron was busy berating his least trustworthy servants (or perhaps slaves) for bringing him back an elf. Rather irritatingly, his least trustworthy slaves were his most useful tools. Legolas tried hard not to listen to the words that grated his soul, yet at some point during that exchange, there must have been an order to untie them, for Legolas' hands suddenly felt blood flow back into them, and he found that he could actually speak again.

"So, _Prince_," spat Sauron. "What were you doing near the seat of Amon Hen with two Halflings in tow? Shouldn't you be in Mirkwood, fleeing before my forces as they threaten to engulf your precious forest?"

Legolas glared menacingly at Sauron, but wisely remained silent.

"What's the matter?" goaded one of the orcs. "So in awe of my master that you can't speak?"

Legolas simply offered a glare to the orc.

Sauron walked up to Legolas. "I asked you a question, Prince. And when I ask questions, I expect an ANSWER!" Sauron struck him, hard, across the cheek. "It's time you learnt some respect!"

Legolas' cheek stung, but his mind was working fast. He had to come up with a convincing reason, yet the simple truth was that there wasn't a sensible reason as to why he was roaming the banks of the Anduin with two men, a dwarf, and four hobbits. And why he was willing to sacrifice his immortality to save two of those hobbits.

"Ok, let's try again. How many were there in your company?"

Legolas decided that feigned ignorance was the best policy. "Company?"

Sauron clapped his hands together, like a child who had just received an unexpected present. "Oh good, he _does_ speak. I was beginning to wonder if one of my orcs had cut out his tongue."

"I assure you, if they had, there would _be_ no orc left in this... rabble," Legolas calmly said, glaring around at the group of orcs still assembled.

Sauron sighed. He knew what the elf was implying. If he was going to get this elf to cooperate, the orcs would have to go. He waved his hand impatiently at them, and the orcs, recognising the unspoken order, left quickly, before the legendary ire of their master could be turned on them.

"Ok, so now that we are alone, perhaps you would like to tell the truth."

Legolas looked at him, trying to keep the terror he was feeling behind a mask of confusion. "I really have no idea what you're talking about," he lied smoothly.

"_Is the heir of Elendil carrying the Ring?_" snarled Sauron.

"Is _who_ carrying _what?_" Legolas asked, genuinely surprised that his enemy had made that connection. He was surprised that Sauron knew that Aragorn was travelling with them, and much more surprised that Sauron knew that Aragorn was the heir of Elendil.

"TELL ME!" shouted Sauron, gripping Legolas by the throat. "Where is the Ring?"

"What Ring?" Legolas choked out. "The One Ring of Power?"

Sauron released the elf, who staggered back, massaging his throat.

"The One Ring of Power was lost many years ago, and I believe is currently floating somewhere in the Anduin, if it hasn't already gone out to sea," Legolas tried once more to convince him.

"You know just as well as I do that the Ring was found by the creature Gollum. We both know he lost it to a Shire-rat named Baggins, who resided for two weeks in that hole you call _home_. And now that Shire-rat resides in Rivendell. So tell me," Sauron snapped. "What exactly is the plan for the Ring?"

"No idea," Legolas lied smoothly. "Seeing as how you know so much about Rivendell, then you should know that Greenwood and Rivendell are about as friendly as you and Gondor. So _you_ tell _me,_ why would I know anything about what Elrond plans to do with a ring that he may or may not have?"

"Right," Sauron said, furious. "I've had enough of this. _Grishnákh!_"

Legolas' least favourite orc from the "battalion" entered.

"Take the two Halflings. Do whatever you will to them, but I want them alive, and preferably with all their limbs still attached, but that's not a necessity."

"_What?_" Legolas cried. "No! You can't!"

"Oh, I _love_ the noble elves, they're so easy to predict... Maybe if you loosen your tongue, then I might be persuaded to make that order permanent."

Legolas knew what he was implying. If he spoke, then Merry and Pippin would stay alive, but would still be tormented. If not... then their blood would be on his hands. "But they're innocent!" he protested.

"Yes, just like you're ignorant about the whereabouts of the Ring," Sauron glared at him. "But they're not. Shall we see how long it takes for _them_ to speak?"

"You wouldn't _dare!_"

Sauron laughed coldly. "Why, because _you_ would stop me? No, let's see the Halflings pay for your _insolence!_"

Legolas was seized by two orcs. He struggled to reach the hobbits as they were practically dragged out of the room.

"All right!" Legolas yelled. "You win..."

Sauron seemed to smile. He never thought it would be so easy. Still, he would be a cruel tyrant if he deprived his slaves of their fun.

"Very good, Prince," Sauron said, while the commotion seemed to pause. Merry and Pippin stared at him in horror.

"Now you and I can have a discussion about this while my servants go and play with your friends."

"NO!" Legolas yelled. "Please, don't!"

Sauron merely laughed cruelly as he walked away from the scene.

"What would it take?" Legolas yelled after him. "What would it take on my part to spare them _this_?"

Sauron paused, before turning around. He walked straight up to Legolas and whispered something in the elf's ear. Only Legolas heard it, but Merry saw his protector tense, a look of horror on his face.

"I can't do that," Legolas whispered. "You know I can't do that!"

"Right, Grishnákh, take the Halflings away!"

"_No!_" Legolas had been charged with protecting the hobbits, whatever the cost. And if that was what was necessary to spare them this, then there was no choice in his mind. "All right! All right, I'll do it!"

He tried hard to stop a tear from rolling down his cheek.

"Really?" Sauron asked incredulously. "You would be willing to do _that_, for the sake of two pathetic Shire-rats?"

Legolas didn't trust himself to speak. He raised his head, staring straight at Sauron, and nodded.


	3. Written in Blood

Written In Blood

Pippin hated sitting alone in this cold, dark, cell. He knew Merry wasn't far away, he could hear him fighting to get out of the cell. Legolas, similarly was sitting in a cell within his sight – or what would be his sight, should there be enough light in the dungeons.

Legolas had barely moved since he entered the cell. Yet when the door of the dungeons clanged open, and Merry resumed his constant cursing of all things that bore the emblem of the Red Eye, Legolas looked up. The doors of his cell were thrown open, and he was roughly hauled to his feet.

The orcs planned to lead Legolas by force to where he was to be taken, but Legolas had _some_ pride left. He wrenched his arm out of the orc's grip, and glared at him with such ferocity that the orc took a step back. The other orcs heeded this unspoken warning.

Pippin watched Legolas as he was led past his cell. Neither he nor Merry knew what it was that Legolas had to do to secure their freedom. He longed for that knowledge, or a confirmation that things would be all right, or even just a shred of contact with the elf, be it nothing more than a reassuring smile, but as Legolas passed him, the elf's eyes were fixed on the path ahead of him, and he didn't even glance sideways, and Pippin got the impression that he had barely crossed Legolas' mind.

* * *

Legolas entered the room that Sauron stood in, alone. A sheet of paper lay on a table that stood between them. Sauron waved his hand at the orcs, who understood that they were dismissed.

"So what's this?" Legolas asked, his voice monotonous. "My contract?"

"Yes, if you wish to use that word," Sauron responded, his tone light-hearted but underlined with malice.

"So I sign it, and this _deal _comes into effect?"

Sauron nodded.

"Right, but before I sign it, I want you to know that for as long as I hold up my end of the deal, anything that is inflicted onto the Fellowship by any hand belonging to Mordor will also be inflicted onto you, but a thousand times worse."

"Any hand belonging to Mordor save one," Sauron replied.

Legolas knew who that hand would belong to.

"Very well, if those are the terms that you desire, then so be it," Sauron gestured towards the 'contract.'

"And once this is 'signed', then there is no way that any of us can change it?" Legolas felt it best to clarify that point.

"No way whatsoever."

Legolas bent over the table, and picked up the knife. He slid it along the palm of his right hand, and as the blood dripped onto the page, it seemed to him that everything he once held dear was dripping from him too.

* * *

The doors opened once more, and Legolas was led into the dungeons. Pippin watched him as they threw him roughly into his cell. Yet surprisingly, the orcs came to his cell, and the door was opened. He was led out of his cell, to be joined by Merry, who looked as confused as he felt.

"What's going on?" asked Merry.

Pippin shrugged. They were led out of the dungeons, but as they reached the door, Pippin cast a glance back at Legolas. The elf sat on the floor, with his head buried in his hands. As the door banged shut behind them, Legolas, sensing that he was alone, began to cry.

"What have I done?"


	4. Lord of the Mark

Lord of the Mark

_Two weeks earlier..._

Aragorn stopped to look at the tracks that looked at least three days old.

"Aragorn!"

The ranger turned around to see Boromir jog up to him. Gimli was still some distance away, trying to catch his breath.

"Aragorn, we've been following this trail for five days now, and we've seen neither hide nor hair of our adversary. With every hour, I fear that their lead greatens."

Aragorn stared down the trail wistfully, hoping, praying, that there would be a column of black within his sight, although he knew that it wouldn't magically appear a minute after he had been idle.

"I think we have to accept that our cause is lost," Boromir continued, as Gimli finally caught up with them.

"Aragorn, much as it pains me to say this, and believe me, it does," Gimli continued. "Boromir's right. We don't have a chance of catching them. They have passed beyond our reach. If Legolas is with them, then he will look after them, and see that the hobbits will come to no harm. If not, then he will have more of a chance of catching them that we ever will."

"And if he is dead?" Aragorn asked grimly.

"Aragorn, Legolas is not dead. We searched around Amon Hen and found no sign of him, alive or dead. Unless they decided to take his body with them, then he will be alive. But they left Boromir to die, and I know that these orcs are eccentric, but they're not _that_ strange."

Aragorn knew that his companions were right, but it did not make the truth any easier to bear. With Frodo gone and Merry and Pippin beyond his reach, then what was he? A ranger without a place to defend, a warrior without a cause to fight for...

"What do I do then?" Aragorn breathed. "I have no purpose..."

"Yes, you do," Boromir said firmly. "You've always had a purpose. And that purpose is to go to Minas Tirith and save our city."

Gimli remained silent as he stared at the broken shadow of the ranger, who seemed to his eyes to have been crippled by failure.

"I failed them," whispered Aragorn. "I failed them all."

Gimli longed to slap Aragorn, if only to get him out of this spiral of self-hatred, but he sensed that now was not a good time.

"Let us go to Edoras," Boromir suggested. "There we can borrow horses, and ride down to the White City. The Rohirrim are friendly with my people, and will no doubt be honoured to serve Isildur's heir."

Aragorn nodded blankly, yet in his mind he was glad to have someone take over the burden of leadership, have someone else make decisions for him. After all, nobody could do a worse job of it than he seemed to have done – a Fellowship in pieces, with two hobbits with the weight of the world around their necks making their journey alone to Mordor, two others taken captive by the enemy, an elf who was either also a captive or else chasing the captives, and then two men and a dwarf trekking the plains of Rohan, not certain of their aim.

* * *

They walked for two days solid until they finally caught sight of the city of Edoras.

"When last I passed into the hall of Meduseld, King Théoden had orders from Saruman whispered in his ear by his chief advisor, Grima," Boromir explained to Aragorn and Gimli. "Let us hope that he has continued to ignore them."

Boromir, Aragorn and Gimli trudged slowly up the hill towards the gates of Edoras, to be greeted by the door warden, Háma. Háma glared at the three newcomers.

"Boromir, you have returned _without_ the horse that we lent you, and with a ranger and a dwarf in tow. I daresay that there is a fascinating tale behind this."

"There is, but now is not the time to hear it," Boromir replied. "We seek an audience with the king."

Háma tutted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like: "Of course you do," before instructing the travellers to leave their weapons at the gate.

"Please enlighten me," Aragorn finally said. "Why should I leave Anduril, or _any_ of my weapons with you?"

"Because that is the will of Théoden. Regardless of what title your sword holds, it must remain here if you wish to see Théoden King," Háma responded.

"Yet my heart does not desire to leave the Blade that was Broken with any man, save myself."

Háma paused, looking at Aragorn in wonder. "What is your name?"

"Aragorn."

"Well, when last I looked, this hall was the hall of Théoden, not the hall of Aragorn. So even if the Sword that was Broken dwells within that sheath, it must remain here."

Aragorn looked at Háma searchingly, before reluctantly handing it over. "No man may touch it," he warned.

Háma placed it next to Boromir's sword, and Gimli reluctantly handed over his axe.

The four companions walked up the hill towards the Golden Hall of Meduseld. The great doors opened and they stepped into a beautiful room. There was a throne set on the far end of the hall, and a tapestry depicting a running horse on a vale hung from the wall behind. However, the throne was occupied by a man who seemed so old that he could barely hold himself up. Richly embroided clothes hung from his shoulders, yet they seemed several sizes too big.

"What business to two men and a dwarf have in Edoras?" came a voice from next to the king. Their eyes turned to alight upon a short man dressed in green. His hair hung lank around his face. Yet it was his eyes that scared the companions the most. As they turned, two blue eyes overlooked them, and while they seemed to reside in sunken pits, and the colour seemed to have dulled, something in the eyes seemed to shine out, like a candle in the darkness.

Boromir ignored the man, and instead addressed the king. "Hail, Théoden King! We come seeking hospitality in your great hall, and we wish to borrow horses, so that we may ride to Gondor."

"You are not welcome here," the man said angrily.

Boromir finally turned to the man. "I believe I addressed _Théoden _King, not _Grima_ King," he said lightly, fully aware of the impact that those words would have.

It seemed that Grima was not left out of the realisation. "You _dare_ to imply that I seek to usurp the king?" he spat. "I have served the king long and would sooner see my own head on a spear than King Théoden's! Such an accusation is most unjust, coming from a stranger!"

"I have oft heard that your tongue was _quick!_"

"I have oft heard that your wit was slow!"

Aragorn laid a hand on Boromir's shoulder, praying that the man would heed the order. "We came to borrow horses, not argue with advisors!" he hissed. "So swallow your pride and _hold your tongue!_"

Boromir looked indignantly at Aragorn, but nevertheless fell silent.

"Théoden King," Aragorn said in a voice that carried across the hall, instantly gaining the respect of many of the men that surrounded the walls. "We came to speak with you, not an advisor of yours. Yet the courtesy of your hall seems lessened. You will not address us directly, and your advisor seems to be running your kingdom by your will or no. Will you not answer us?"

The king looked at them long and hard, and it seemed that Théoden was searching Aragorn's words. Suddenly, he turned to Grima.

"Grima, please leave us be," he said abruptly.

"What?" Grima replied indignantly. He drew himself up to his full height and, while that wasn't exactly tall, compared to the slumped form of the king he seemed to overpower Théoden.

"_Now_, please," Théoden snapped.

"My lord, I do not wish to leave you with these travellers! Who knows _what_ poison they may whisper in your ear."

"Grima, I gave you an order. You will obey it, lest you leave my service."

There was a pause, and most expected that Grima would argue. But Grima suddenly turned, and swept out of the room.

Théoden watched him leave, and as soon as the door slammed shut behind him, he turned back to the travellers.

"Would you like to explain _why_ you were wandering around in Rohan?" Théoden asked them.

"We told you," answered Aragorn. "We come seeking refuge and to borrow horses."

"Your garb heralds that you have passed through the elvish sorceress' realm. Why did you not borrow horses there?"

Aragorn paused. He obviously couldn't tell the king that he had been travelling with a group charged with taking the One Ring to Mordor, but he also couldn't find a plausible explanation as to why he had crossed the Anduin. In the end, he decided on the truth – or part of it, at least.

"A company of orcs bearing the White Hand of Saruman has taken two, possibly three of our friends captive. We chased them across Rohan, yet we could not catch them."

Théoden paused. "The White Hand of Saruman, you say?"

Aragorn nodded.

"This is not the first time that we have heard of orcs from Isengard," one of the men surrounding the walls said. "Éomer told a similar tale when he brought your son back from the Fords of Isen."

"Yet Grima still maintains that Saruman is still our ally," Théoden replied.

Another man walked up to the throne and dropped a helmet upon the floor. "This was something that we found at the Fords. We took it from the head of one of the orcs."

"We have long known that Grima was friendlier than most with Saruman before he entered your service," the first man said. "Perhaps the time has come when you stop listening to his words."

* * *

"It's the newcomers! Please! Send me not from your side! These travellers, they've poisoned you against me! They are ambassadors of that elvish sorceress! They admitted that they've passed through the realm of Lothlórien! They will poison your mind and Rohan will fall to the witch! Please, let me remain! Let faithful Grima protect you from her!"

Grima had just been told that his services would no longer be required, and, unsurprisingly, he was not taking the news well.

"If this is poison, then it seems more wholesome than your whisperings," Théoden said lightly. "How long would you and Saruman have had me doing your will, like a puppet? Yet you were once good. What was the promised price for your services? Would you not return to a path of good?"

There was a pause. "I've only ever served you-"

"Give him a horse, and make sure I never see him again," Théoden said to his men.

Two grabbed Grima by the shoulders and dragged him out of the hall

"No!" Grima cried. "No, my lord! No, please, NO!"

The doors fell shut behind him, and there was utter silence across Edoras.


	5. Helm's Deep

Helm's Deep

"Gamling!" the king called, breaking the long silence. "I get the feeling that we are going to need to march against a certain wizard in the near future."

Gamling nodded and left. The soldiers that lined the walls understood the unvoiced meaning, yet the three companions were still left in the dark.

"I cannot thank you enough," the king said to the remnants of the Fellowship. "You freed me from the whispers of Grima."

"You flatter us, King Théoden," Aragorn said smoothly. "But we actually did very little. If anyone deserves your gratitude it is your men."

"Yet you freed me from Grima's words long enough for me to open my eyes, or at least, have them opened for me," Théoden laughed, a distant sound that seemed like it had not been heard in a long time. "Yet you did not come soon enough to prevent me from banishing my nephew, and now I fear that we ride into war, against a foe that has already scored a victory against us, and we against him," Théoden's voice had a tone of grim satisfaction as he said the last four words. "I would ask you to ride with us, yet I know that you desire to go to Gondor."

Boromir glanced uneasily at Aragorn, who was torn.

"I will not deny that my heart greatly desires to go to the White City..." Aragorn said at length. "Yet I sense that the time has not yet come for me to gaze upon my home."

"But Aragorn..." hissed Boromir. "We have to ride to the White City!"

"Yes," Aragorn conceded. "We do. With Rohan."

* * *

"Those cowards!" snapped Gimli. "I cannot believe them! They flee to the mountains instead of facing their enemy head-on!"

"Your folk have fled to the mountains, Gimli," Boromir chuckled.

"Helm's Deep has saved Rohan previously," Aragorn explained. "It's never been taken before. They don't stand a chance of defending themselves here, so they ride to the fortress." He paused. "And we go with them."

"And that's another thing!" the dwarf began. Clearly he would not be satisfied until he had ranted about every inconvenience under the sun. "Why are did we go to Helm's Deep as opposed to Gondor? I thought that the plan was to ride to Minas Tirith!"

It had been six days since Aragorn had made the decision to try and help Rohan. In that time they had experienced an albeit slow journey to the fortress, and scouts had reported that Saruman's forces would be there by nightfall.

"As I've explained _countless_ times," Aragorn replied, "we came here to help Rohan. Yes, the original plan was to go straight to Minas Tirith, but war will march upon there soon enough. If we can help Rohan now then there will be more chance that Rohan will aid Gondor."

"And so you've got us into a war which has doubtful odds of a victory for us, and the presence of two more men and a dwarf will not change that!" Gimli yelled irately.

"Gimli," Boromir said sweetly. "Do us all a favour and try to convince your vocal chords to stop vibrating, thus rendering the noise coming out of your lips non-existant."

"Ok, it is far too early in the morning for me to decipher what you were trying to say so-"

"He means 'shut up,'" Aragorn supplied. "And it's mid-afternoon."

-:-

"Still no word from Éomer?" Théoden asked Gamling.

"No sign of him throughout the country," Gamling said. "We've even sent riders up to Fangorn, but there's no sign of him, or any of his company."

"And is there aid from Gondor?"

Gamling didn't need to reply for the king to know the answer.

"How many men do we have?"

"Four hundred came from Edoras, but no others have come. War marches upon the lands, and none can be spared from the provinces for this."

"And how many do the scouts report the army of Saruman is?"

Gamling really didn't want to answer that.

"Well?" demanded Théoden. "How many?"

"Nearly three thousand."

-:-

"If what the scouts say is true," Gimli snapped, "then we have about as much chance of holding this keep as we do of retaking Moria."

"Gimli!" snapped Boromir. "What part of 'hold your tongue' do you have difficulty in understanding?"

"Three thousand Uruk-hai against four hundred stable-boys?" Gimli ignored Boromir. "We don't stand a chance!"

"There are warriors here, Gimli," Aragorn said. "Rohan isn't just comprised of stable-boys."

"Yes, there are warriors. Warriors who last fought in battle when Smaug held Erebor. And they few and far between amongst these children!"

"Gimli, will you calm down?" Aragorn snapped. "You're right, we don't have much. We don't have many warriors, we don't have much preparation, we don't have much chance. But we do have hope. And if we lose that, like you obviously have, then what do we have, pray?"

-:-

"Three _thousand?_" Théoden repeated.

"That's just the first assault," Gamling said. "More are leaving Isengard every day, and scouts have estimated that the final force will be close to ten thousand."

Théoden clutched the table that lay between them. "I can't believe this," he said weakly. "What are we going to do?"

Gamling opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. He didn't have an answer. Before one could formulate in his brain, however, a horn was blown outside, startling them.

-:-

Boromir jumped as the horn echoed across the Deep. The trio knew what it meant, but they did not relish the prospect of rushing out into the rain to see if their fears were confirmed.

Aragorn was the first to stir. He led the way out to see a shadow stretching out across the plains in front of them, dotted with symbols of the White Hand. The forces stretched out beyond their field of vision. Nobody dared to speak.

The enemy was here.

* * *

An arrow whistled over Aragorn's head, missing him by inches. Night had fallen and he hadn't seen it coming. He couldn't tell who had fired it, be it orc or man, but at the rate the battle was raging, the archer wouldn't survive long.

To call the state that the fortress was in 'pandemonium' was an insult to the chaos that reigned there. Arrows were flying in every imaginable direction, stretches of wall kept changing hands more often than Butterbur took coin for ale, and the king, quite frankly, didn't have the faintest idea as to what to do. They were hopelessly outnumbered, and as if the night couldn't get any worse, a wave of reinforcements had just arrived from Saruman.

Dodging another siege tower as it hooked itself over the battlements, Aragorn ran along the wall to where a group of Uruk-hai were tearing down a banner of Rohan. He slipped behind them, unnoticed, and decapitated the Uruk holding the flag of Rohan.

Another Uruk threw itself at him, but Aragorn ducked and danced out of the creature's way. He brought Anduril down upon the Uruk's back, before kicking him over the wall to join the writhing mass of black beneath them. A third lunged for him, but he swiftly brought the sword up to meet the Uruk, and there was a resounding clash as steel met with steel.

Aragorn lashed out with his boot, throwing the Uruk off its balance, before slamming the tip of his sword through its skull. The final Uruk in the group dropped the banner of the White Hand that it had been holding, and fled the scene. Aragorn picked up a torch and ignited the banner, before throwing it off the wall for good measure.

Boromir wasn't faring as well. He was trapped on a stretch of wall, surrounded by Uruks. He saw the burning flag fall and, through the rain, saw Aragorn silhouetted atop a tower over the gate. One thought echoed in his mind.

_Get to Aragorn._

He ran into the swarm of black, cutting down four before the group realised he was there. He ducked beneath two swords as they both aimed for his neck, before bringing his own up to meet with one bound on cracking his skull.

He pushed an uruk aside as he ran out of the group, and made it to the bottom of the stairs before they gave chase. However, he slipped about halfway up the steps, giving the Uruk-hai a chance to catch up. One of them raised its sword over Boromir, and Boromir raised his own to parry the blow, but his wasn't the only blade that met with it.

Boromir lifted his eyes to find Aragorn standing over him, Anduril raised, holding off the blade that seemed set for Boromir's face. Boromir stabbed the foremost Uruk, before kicking it down into the group. Using the temporary distraction this provided, Boromir leapt to his feet, and ran to the top of the tower with Aragorn.

"Thank you," Boromir panted.

Aragorn nodded in acknowledgement. "Have you seen Gimli?"

"Not since we got separated on the wall," Boromir answered. "He went left, I went right."

"He probably has made for the caves."

"Aye..."

The pair glanced down at the Uruks who had been following them, only to find that they had decided to attack a group of Rohan's soldiers. However, as they looked, one raised its head, shouted to the others, and the group started chasing them again.

"Got your breath back?" Aragorn asked.

"No."

"Tough."

The pair fled from the tower.

"Where are we going?" Boromir asked, confused, as they ran.

"To the Keep. No army has ever yet taken it. I fear that we will be forced to make a final stand, and that is no doubt where the king is."

* * *

It was at dawn that day that the order was given for all survivors to make for the Keep. Very few had escaped unscathed, and so healers were running around, trying to help the injured in any way possible. Boromir and Aragorn hadn't seen any sign of Gimli, dead or alive. Both hoped that the latter would be the state that they found him in when they did.

"The fortress is lost," Théoden muttered, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. "It is all over."

Boromir glared at him. "You would so readily abandon hope?"

"Look around you," the king cried. "What hope do we have? Where is this hope that you speak of coming from?"

"This keep has never been taken," Boromir said, and got to his feet. "You said so yourself, this fort cannot be taken as long as your men stayed to defend it!"

"So what would you have me do?" Théoden's despair turned to anger.

"Ride out and meet them," Aragorn replied quietly. He too got to his feet. "If we are to make an end today, then how will we be remembered? Would you be the jester's joke, the king who hid in his halls, waiting for an enemy to break through the gate, or would you prefer to have songs sung in the great halls of your charge into the enemy lines? Would you rather die on your feet or die on your knees? What are you, a coward or a king?"

Silence followed Aragorn's speech, before Théoden drew his sword one more time. "You're right," he said. "If we are to make an end today, then I would like to ride once more in the sunlight. Even if it is my last ride, I will not abandon hope yet. Let us meet our enemy in battle."

Horses were brought to them, and Boromir, Aragorn and Théoden mounted, along with the king's guard.

"Let's see the sunrise one last time," Théoden said. "Forth Eorlingas!"

The gates opened, and the company charged into battle. They flew over the causeway, sending their foes off the side as the company charged out into the fray. They reached the bottom of the causeway when they heard a whinny come from the east. They turned, and saw a sight none of them expected to see.

Along the top of the hill was a long line of horses, only a shadow of the mass of cavalry that was hidden from view. And in front of the line was...

"It can't be..." Boromir breathed.

Aragorn was rendered speechless as his brain struggled to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. That figure was... but it wasn't possible...

It was Gandalf.


	6. Tales to Tell

Tales to Tell

Gandalf's horse reared up, and next to him, a second figure appeared.

"Éomer!" Théoden exclaimed.

The mass of riders suddenly started to descend down the hill, led by Gandalf. As they reached the bottom, where they were to collide with the Uruks, the sun broke over the mountains, bathing them in a warm yellow light that blinded the night-loving creatures of Saruman. The horses leapt over the spears that were meant to prove their bane, and the fighting began again. Only this time, the fight seemed to be very one-sided, and the Rohirrim seemed to be winning.

After what felt like an hour, the forces of Saruman seemed greatly depleted, and the Uruks began to flee southwards.

The cries echoed around the Deep, shouting of Rohan's victory, and the shadow from Isengard disappeared, never to be seen again.

* * *

"Well met, my friends," Gandalf said as he rode over to Aragorn and Boromir across the empty battlefield.

Aragorn stared at him, unable to conceal the broad grin that had spread itself shamelessly across his face. "How is this possible?" he muttered.

"You fell," Boromir said bluntly. "You fell with the Balrog."

"Yes, Boromir, I did," Gandalf replied, completely unperturbed by his audience's disbelief. "I fell through fire and water, battling with my foe. For what felt like the length of the ages of this world I fought with him, yet he fled. He fled up the forgotten stair, until we came to the highest peak. Ever I fought with him, until I cast his corpse down the mountain. But I was exhausted. I could not live any longer. As darkness took me, I looked back upon the ages of the world. But then I felt life in me again. Now come, tell me your story. The Fellowship is broken, and I find two men of Gondor here in a field of victory, against all odds. Doubtless there will be a few tales to tell."

At that point, Gimli appeared, calling out Aragorn and Boromir's names. It was only after he came within talking range that he noticed Gandalf. He stood there, mouthing soundlessly, until finally he summoned his voice back.

"WHAT?" he roared.

"Hello, Master Gimli," Gandalf said.

"But... but... _how?_"

Boromir and Aragorn exchanged amused glances.

"Gandalf was just explaining that," Aragorn said, cocking one eyebrow as he looked at the wizard.

* * *

"So Frodo and Sam have gone off to Mordor alone, Merry and Pippin have been captured by Uruk-hai, and we have no idea where Legolas is," Aragorn finished.

He had just finished explaining everything that had happened between Helm's Deep and Moria, aided by Gimli and Boromir.

"Legolas is with Merry and Pippin," Gandalf said at length.

"What? How do you know?" Boromir demanded.

"I saw the company as it passed," Gandalf said.

"And you didn't _do_ anything?"

"Boromir, I was barely clothed!" snapped the wizard. "I didn't have enough strength to put one foot in front of the other, let alone interfere!"

"And Legolas, why didn't he do anything?" snapped Gimli.

"The fact that he was unconscious, bound and gagged might have hindered whatever plans he had," Gandalf calmly explained.

Aragorn remained silent. Yes, Gandalf's news proved that Legolas was alive, but it would have taken some doing for the elf to be rendered unconscious.

"What do they want with Legolas?" Gimli voiced what was on his and Boromir's minds.

"Perhaps they do not know which member of the Fellowship has the Ring," Gandalf mused. "But the only prince of Mirkwood would be a valuable prize to whoever held him."

"I think the latter is more likely," Boromir said. "Otherwise they would have taken me, too."

"Do you know where they were going?" Gimli asked.

"I could not say," Gandalf replied. "Yet I think that when I saw them, they had not decided on their course..."

"Do you think that they will survive?" Boromir asked.

Gandalf shrugged. "I do not know. But perhaps the orcs that captured them did not know what impact they would have when they captured Legolas. Perhaps this will change the course of this tale..."

* * *

_Twelve days later..._

The four members of the Fellowship were back at Edoras, along with King Théoden, Éomer, and the remainder of Rohan's armies. They were enjoying party after party celebrating their victory at Helm's Deep. Yet Aragorn could not feel happy. His heart could not rest while he knew that Legolas was in the hands of orcs, and possibly Sauron himself. The two had been friends for most of Aragorn's life, and he could not bear the thought that Legolas was in the hands of the enemy.

He knew that Legolas had not been taken to Isengard. The army had ridden there to see if Saruman posed a threat. But when they arrived, they found it engulfed in three feet of floodwater from the River Isen, surrounded by tree-shepherds. One, who seemed to be in charge, called Treebeard by Gandalf, told them of how the Ents had seen Saruman's destruction of Fangorn, and had taken matters into their own hands. The corrupt wizard could not be allowed to continue, and the destruction of Isengard had ensued.

Saruman was now completely broken. Gandalf had seen to the destruction of his staff, along with most of his power. The only power he still retained was his voice, and even that power seemed to be waning. It did not work on Gandalf, and, by extension, anyone else. So now all the wizard had for company was a group of angry Ents and Grima.

It was around midday when Háma came to the golden hall, and announced the arrival of a messenger from Gondor.

"Show him in," said Théoden.

A tall man, dressed in the black and silver garments of Gondor, entered.

"Dareoth!" exclaimed Boromir.

Gimli cast him a bemused glance.

"Dareoth is one of my friends from Gondor," Boromir said, by way of an explanation. "He's a member of the Tower Guard." He turned back to the messenger. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," replied Dareoth, glaring at Boromir. "Word reached your father of your exploits in Helm's Deep, and he sent me to find you, and bring you home, whatever the cost."

Boromir's expression morphed from one of delight to one of defiance.

"Boromir, what you have to understand is that Gondor is at war. You cannot so readily abandon your people."

"I'm not _abandoning_ anyone," Boromir snapped haughtily.

"I also was sent to ask Rohan for aid," Dareoth turned to Théoden. "We cannot fight this war on our own. And so, much as it pains Lord Denethor to say this," Dareoth took a deep breath, as though preparing to do something he really didn't want to do, "we need your help."

Théoden stared long and hard at the messenger. "Tell me, Dareoth," Théoden said. "Why should we ride to the aid of those who refused to come to ours? You ignored our plea for help, why shouldn't we do the same to you?"

Boromir looked at Théoden, outraged, but Gandalf laid a hand on his shoulder – a warning, telling him to calm down.

"Théoden King, we would have ridden to your aid, but war marched upon our own lands," Dareoth explained. "We did not have any men to spare."

Théoden nodded. "Very well. Tell Lord Denethor that I will consider his request."

Dareoth looked as though he had hoped for something better, but nodded. He headed towards the door, but it opened before he could reach it. Háma rushed in, looking panicked.

"My lord, you're going to want to see this."


	7. Impossible

Impossible

Orcs poured from all sides into Osgilliath. The city was overrun with the forces of Sauron. Gondor knew that this was only the start of the war that was to come, but the people could not deal with it. Nor with the fact that this was only a shadow, a taste of what awaited the capital.

The young captain, Faramir, ducked as one of the Nazgûl flew overhead. The massive creature grabbed a group of men next to him, but Faramir escaped unscathed. He ran through the chaos, praying that he would find his second-in-command.

He knew his father would be furious at the loss of the river, but Faramir had to face facts. As he turned around, he knew that there was no chance that the city would ever be saved. The buildings were destroyed, and the people dead. Even as he glanced down he saw that he was climbing amidst a carpet of women, children and soldiers alike. Sadly, the number of orcs littering the floor was considerably less than the numbers of men.

As he watched, another group of orcs broke through the gate, carrying torches, burning everything that could catch fire and killing everything that breathed. Faramir didn't have a choice. He fled from the orcs, and sounded the order to retreat.

-:-

High above the chaos, a figure dressed wholly in black crouched atop one of the taller buildings. He watched the scene unfurl below him, and heard the order to pull back to the capital.

The figure watched Faramir flee, and saw him climb onto his horse. The man looked so much like his brother. It almost made him regret what he was about to do.

But he suppressed the surge of almost-guilt, and pulled a bow back, nocking an arrow into place. What was done could not be changed, and this was his chance to prove it. He bent the bow back with cold, calculated determination, and with an accuracy inexplicable even to him, he shot the young captain in the throat.

* * *

Aragorn, Gandalf, Gimli and Boromir followed Théoden out of the hall, to be greeted with a sight of a black horse bearing two figures. The two figures were shorter than most, and they appeared to be unconscious. Aragorn gave a start as he recognised them.

"Pippin? Merry?"

He wasn't exactly expecting a reply, given as how the hobbits had their eyes shut and were barely staying on the horse.

"But this is impossible," he heard Boromir say behind him. It seemed that a lot of impossible things had been happening recently.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked Háma.

Háma looked at him bemusedly.

"Was there another horse? Bearing an elf?"

Háma's brow furrowed. "Nay, there was only this horse. It would have passed right by us if we hadn't noticed it cross the plains. We thought we'd better investigate it, and when we saw who was riding it, we decided to bring the horse and riders back here."

"Are they going to be all right?" Boromir asked, ill-disguised concern colouring his tone.

Aragorn shrugged. "I don't know. They look exhausted, and who knows what they've undergone."

Háma spared the group a glance. "You know them?"

Gimli looked at the man like he was an idiot. "Know them?" he spluttered indignantly. "Of course we know them! These are our friends who had been taken captive!"

Háma nodded to a couple of guards, who understood the order to get the hobbits down. The remainder of the Fellowship watched in silence as the two hobbits were taken into the healing halls.

* * *

Pippin's eyes opened slowly. As far as he could tell, he was lying in a dimly lit room, on a bed... But that made very little sense. The last thing he remembered was sitting on a horse as it traversed the plains of a land unknown to him, behind his cousin–

_Merry..._

He sat bolt upright, intending to look for the one he had been travelling with. However, as luck would have it, the door opened at that very moment, and in entered–

Pippin had to look twice to be certain. But... it couldn't be... could it?

"Gandalf?" Pippin finally managed to stutter.

"Yes, I'm here," Gandalf smiled kindly. "And you're lucky to be here too, after what happened at Amon Hen."

"Where is 'here' exactly?" Pippin asked, feeling it better to clear this matter up.

"You are in Edoras, in the Halls of Meduseld."

Pippin gave him a blank look. Geography had never been his strong point.

"You're in the house of the King of Rohan," Gandalf clarified. "Now am I going to find out the absurd reason why you are out of bed when logic dictates that you should rest?"

"Merry?" Pippin asked, dreading the answer.

"Yes, he's also here. You were both brought into the city on a horse, unconscious. I daresay that the rest of the Fellowship will have questions for you, not least that Aragorn will want to know exactly where Legolas is."

At the mention of Legolas, Pippin's eyes darkened. He had not forgotten the image of Legolas in the cell as he and Merry were escorted away from Mordor.

"Legolas is in Mordor," Pippin said abruptly. "He sacrificed himself to save us. He stayed behind in Mordor while we were tied to a horse and sent on our way. I don't know how, but... but S... but _He_ knew that we didn't have the Ring. He offered Legolas a choice – either we were to be killed or Legolas would do something that meant that he would stay in Mordor. I don't know what it was. Nobody ever told me or Merry. All I know is that he stayed behind while we were granted freedom."

Gandalf's face was unreadable as he heard this. "So you met Sauron..." he mused.

Pippin nodded. "I've never been more frightened in my life..." he confessed. "It sounds silly, but-"

"Pippin, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Many brave warriors have been brought to their knees by fear of him. Legolas was probably just as frightened as you, even if he masked it well. Even _I_ would be frightened if I was brought to him alive as a prisoner. A person who does not fear Sauron would be a fool."

Pippin felt a little bit better after hearing this, before deciding to change the subject. "Where are Frodo and Sam?" he asked.

"Safely on their way to Mordor. Or at least, as safely as one can be on a journey of that nature."

"But I thought you said they were here-"

"Perhaps I should have clarified, when I said 'the rest of the Fellowship'. What I meant was the majority of the rest of the Fellowship, save Frodo and Sam."

"Oh," Pippin looked downcast, but realised that it was for the best.

"Anyway, I'd better tell said 'rest of the Fellowship' that you woke up. They'll be a lot happier to know that you are awake."

-:-

"I have good news and bad news," Gandalf announced as he entered.

Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli looked up.

"The good news is that Pippin's awake, and he's told me where Legolas is."

Boromir and Gimli sighed with relief, but Aragorn still looked troubled.

"And where is he?" Aragorn asked.

"That's the bad news. Legolas... is in Mordor."

"WHAT?" roared Aragorn, flying to his feet.

"Aragorn-"

"No, this cannot be real, this can't be-"

"Aragorn-"

"He can't be in Mordor, no, no, no, no-"

"ARAGORN!"

"I WON'T ALLOW IT!" screamed the ranger. He collapsed back into his chair and buried his face in his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was considerably thicker than before. "I can't lose him... If he's dead, then I don't know what I'll do..."

Boromir and Gimli's expressions were identical masks of shock – both at the prospect that one of their friends was held captive in Mordor, and at the sight of Aragorn's grief. The pity in their eyes intensified as the ranger struggled to barely repress a sob.

"Aragorn, I know this is hard, but you cannot worry about that now."

Aragorn looked up at the wizard, a mixture of incredulity and anger on his face. "Well then, what am I supposed to do about it, feel happy? Ignore the fact that one of my best friends is a prisoner of Sauron? Forget about him like he never even existed?"

"No," Gandalf said, cutting off Aragorn before he could get any further. "You must go to Gondor, and deliver the sword to Minas Tirith."

Boromir's eyes brightened visibly at the prospect.

"You can honour Legolas by fighting for him, and become who you were born to be. Théoden will ride with you. There is little that you can do for Legolas now, and sitting around here moping is helping neither you nor him. So understand me when I say that tragic though Legolas' fate is, it is just another casualty. It is not important in the remainder of this war. So, and forgive me if I sound unsympathetic, but pull yourself together!"

Aragorn stayed still long enough to give the wizard a mortified glance, before practically fleeing the room. Aragorn would never think of Legolas as "_just another casualty_" ever. As he ran out of the room, so that nobody would see him cry, neither he nor anyone else in the room realised just how wrong Gandalf was.

* * *

**A/N: I know, I'm sorry, Aragorn depression/angst is insanely fun to write... Sorry if it seemed a bit random, but finding a way to get Merry and Pippin back to the Fellowship is difficult... and it's kind of vital to the rest of the plot...**


	8. Surprise

Surprise

_Six days later..._

Rohan had been surprisingly swift in setting out with enough soldiers to effectively ride to Gondor's aid. Thankfully, when they arrived, the siege upon Minas Tirith had not begun.

Boromir was welcomed into the city with resounding cries of delight as he rode through the levels with Aragorn, Gandalf, Gimli and Théoden. However, the smile that seemed firmly plastered onto his face was swiftly destroyed by the sight of Lord Denethor striding furiously across the courtyard, his face set to kill.

"Where – have – you – been?" he snapped as his oldest son dismounted the horse gifted to him by Théoden.

"It's lovely to see you too, father."

"Do you have any idea how worried I've been?" the steward snarled. "You prowling Middle Earth on some foolish elf mission? Particularly after what happened to your brother-"

"What happened to Faramir?" Boromir asked jokingly. "Why isn't he out here rejoicing in my return like the rest of the city?"

Denethor's eyes saddened, and Boromir's mirth fell from him as he knew that something dreadful must have happened.

"Father," he asked, scared. "Where is Faramir?"

"He was killed," a guard replied quickly, when his lord looked like he wasn't going to respond. "When Osgiliath was taken, he was shot through the neck."

When Denethor and Boromir glanced furiously at the guard, said guard dropped his gaze, staring at the floor.

"You're lying..." Boromir's tone was disbelieving. "You're lying, he can't be dead, _he can't be dead!_"

Denethor moved to pull his eldest son into an embrace, but Boromir pulled sharply away.

"Why am I just hearing about this now?" Boromir snapped at his father. "Why didn't you tell me when you sent that emissary to Edoras?"

"Why were you in _Edoras_ as opposed to here, with your people?" Denethor retorted.

"I can't believe this..." Boromir muttered. He pushed past his father and ran the length of the courtyard, disappearing behind the black doors.

Denethor stared after his eldest – nay, his _only_ son, before turning back to the rest of the party.

"I have six thousand men with me, and they all need to know exactly what strategy you have in mind..." Théoden said, before changing tack at the sight of Denethor's face. "But I suppose this could wait."

Denethor scowled at Théoden, before following Boromir inside.

* * *

It was that evening when Mordor's forces arrived at the gates of Minas Tirith. They came in numbers way beyond that which any expected. The forces comprised of not just orcs, but monsters as well. Mûmakil were ridden by Haradrim, in numbers that most preferred not to contemplate. There were more trolls in Sauron's forces than there were stars visible in the sky – although admittedly that wasn't saying much, as huge storm clouds had accumulated over the fields of Pelennor. And at the front of the army were two riders, clothed entirely in black.

The first rider was easily recognisable. The dark clothes that were worn under the armour were tattered and torn, and the face was an endless pit of darkness. This rider was clearly the Witch-King of Angmar.

The second rider, however, was very different. He was unusually well dressed for a warrior, especially by Mordor's standards. A black velvet cloak was draped around the rider's shoulders, and the rider's hood was up, obscuring his face. Mithril armour gleamed over his chest, wrists and legs, and a quiver was slung over his shoulders. The few who had seen Faramir's murderer in Osgiliath recognised this second rider, although they did not know his name.

As Mordor's forces fanned out over the fields, issuing from Osgiliath, a silence fell over the city. The air seemed tense, as though the whole world was waiting for what was about to happen.

"What are they doing?" Éomer wondered aloud, as he sat on Firefoot behind the gate. "Why don't they attack?"

As if that was the very cue that the world had been waiting for, the second rider kicked his dark horse, steering it down the length of the army. At the same time, although Gondor could not see it, the front lines of orcs, comprised entirely of archers, fitted arrows to their bows. As the mysterious rider pulled out one of his arrows and set it alight, the archers let the arrows fly. The arrows camouflaged themselves against the clouds, and those on the wall could not see them, but the rider then let his arrow fly parallel to the city walls. One by one, the orcish arrows caught fire as the flame brushed past them, igniting some previously applied oil on the tips. The arrows suddenly became visible to the previously ignorant soldiers in Minas Tirith, but by then it was too late to move. Arrows plunged burning into the soldiers that lined the fortifications. Catapults caught fire, and banners were flung off the wall like torches. And then the rest of Mordor's army advanced.

Siege ladders crashed against the wall, and orcs swarmed onto the battlements. Screams and clashes signified that the battle had begun.

Aragorn ran onto the battlements, determined to help, followed closely by Boromir, Gandalf, Gimli and Théoden. Aragorn raised Anduril and brought it crashing down onto an orc's head, before pivoting and slamming it into the face of another. Not one orc could touch him, nor for that matter any of the Fellowship. But then he saw something that constituted as a very big problem, in his opinion.

A battering ram was being pushed towards the gate.

"Brace the gate!" shouted Boromir from the wall.

Archers suddenly turned their attention from the orcs attempting to kill them to the trolls that pushed the battering ram. Cries came from men as they were shot from the walls. And in all the chaos, the mysterious rider had vanished.

Aragorn turned his attention to defending the archers from the orcs that swarmed the walls. He sliced down orc after orc, but it was clear that they were outnumbered, even with Rohan's help. And there was only so much that one man can do against countless enemies, no matter how good a swordsman he is.

Suddenly screams started coming from the streets – _behind_ the walls. Aragorn wheeled round, to see several houses burning. It didn't take him long to find the cause. The mystery rider had somehow managed to enter the city, stolen a horse and was now riding through the streets, burning houses as he went.

A jarring cry brought him back to his senses. He suddenly realised just how stupid he had been. He had been standing still, frozen, for at least a minute while a full-blown siege raged around him. It was a miracle he hadn't been hurt.

He turned, about to kill another orc, when the cry repeated itself.

"_Merry!_"

Aragorn's heart stopped. He had given explicit instructions to the hobbits to help the healers, or guard the steward, or do anything, provided that they _weren't on the front-line_. But due to reasons that mattered very little at that point in time, the hobbits had seen fit to disobey him. And now Merry was lying on the floor, Pippin a few feet away, and a particularly large orc looming over Merry with a sword raised high above his head.

Aragorn was frozen, too scared for the hobbits' fate to move. However, the orc who Aragorn would have killed suddenly gave a cry and lunged forward. As the sword descended, it met not with Merry's face, but with the second orc's sword. There was a squeal of metal, and Aragorn sparked into action. He ran forward as both orcs turned away from the hobbits, and Anduril smashed into the chest of Merry's would-be killer. Anduril still firmly embedded in this orc's chest, he pulled out his dagger, and slammed that into the other orc's face. He wrenched both blades free, and sheathed the dagger.

"Are you all right?" Aragorn asked Merry.

"I'm fine..." Merry got to his feet, while his heart rate returned to normal. "Do you have any idea what just happened?"

Aragorn shrugged. "I don't know why that orc saved you. You should be dead." There was a strong rebuke in his voice. "There's something else going on here."

Three very sarcastic claps came from behind Aragorn. The man spun around, while Merry and Pippin moved to get a better view. The mysterious rider, minus the horse, stood there, all weapons sheathed.

"Well done," the rider laughed – a cold mirthless sound. "Very astute. Perhaps you're not just an ugly face."

Aragorn tensed, gripping Anduril tighter in his hand.

"Now those idiotic slaves might have obscure reservations about killing you," the rider drew a knife from his belt, "but let me assure you that I don't."

"How did you get into the city?" snarled Aragorn.

"Simple – shoot down the guards on the wall round there-" he pointed to the east side of the city, "-throw up a rope, climb up the rope, and I'm in."

"Why are you here?"

"Are you going to waste my time asking stupid questions? Or am I going to have to endure your constant idiocy for hours before I get to kill you?"

"That's not a reasonable answer," Aragorn snapped.

"That's not a reasonable question," the rider replied coolly. "But I suppose I'll humour you. I'm here for the same reason as all these orcs – to help Sauron conquer Minas Tirith, take over Gondor, and then crush the world of men."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Who are you?"

The rider laughed again. "You're really not very bright, are you? Can you not guess?"

Aragorn glared at him. "Get out!"

The rider smiled under his hood. "No."

"Then you leave me no choice."

Aragorn lunged at the rider, who dodged. The swipe went wide, and the rider pushed it away from him with his own blade. Aragorn lost his balance and the rider ran to the end of the battlements. He strung an arrow into his bow, and fired it at a rope over the gates.

For the sake of speed, the mechanism that locked the gates was simple. A rope was strung over a beam, one end tied to a weight, and the other end tied to a long thin block of stone. The block would slot into holders and bar the gate, and the weight could be tied to a metal ring on the wall above. To unlock the gate quickly, all you needed to do was untie the rope from the metal ring, the weight would fall down, and the block would go up.

The rider's arrow hit the rope, just below the ring, and the rope snapped. The weight was sent crashing down into the space below, the block flew up, timed perfectly with an almighty crash from the battering ram. The gates swung open, and Mordor's armies poured in.

Aragorn recovered his balance to chase after the rider, arriving just in time to see the gates crash open.

"No..." he breathed.

Anger taking over, he swung his sword at the rider's neck, and would have hit had the rider not ducked. The rider brought his knee up to slam into Aragorn's kidneys. Aragorn doubled over while the rider pushed past him, and ran to the top of the wall.

"NO!"Aragorn lunged at him, making to grab his cloak, but it was too late. The rider leapt down off the wall. He landed in the one place where there weren't any orcs, right next to the gate, and ran off back towards the rest of Mordor's forces.


	9. Duel

Duel

It was dawn before the forces of Mordor could be forced back out of the gate, and Aragorn turned around to survey the damage.

The top two levels had remained relatively unscathed. Their gates had been barricaded shut and aside from the odd burning house, caused by a few flaming arrows going astray, no damage had been done. Oh, how Aragorn wished that held true for the bottom levels...

There wasn't a single house that had been left untouched by orcs. Most of the houses had been burnt, and the rest had been given large holes in their walls by a rogue troll's sledgehammer. There wasn't a single family, on any level, that hadn't been torn apart by the night's events. People had lost their fathers, husbands, sons, someone who had gone to fight in the war, or else somebody, an innocent civilian who had been killed while trying to flee. Aragorn was stepping on patches of floor in between dead bodies. A depressingly small percentage of this carpet of corpses was comprised of orcs. The gutters flowed with the blood of innocent lives that had been spilled.

_And this was only the first day of the siege of Minas Tirith..._

Aragorn wandered back in the direction of the top level, to the court of the fountain, hoping to find Boromir. However, before he could make it up there, Gandalf called him.

"Aragorn, your presence is required at the gates."

And the wizard offered no further explanation until they reached the wrecked bottom level.

"There is a messenger from their army, saying that he wishes to speak with the heir of Elendil."

"What does he want?" asked Aragorn.

Gandalf shrugged. "Not really sure, but apparently it's very important," Gandalf's tone was one of disdain. "But I suppose we'd better go and see what on earth is going on."

And so Aragorn, Gandalf, Boromir, Gimli, Théoden, Éomer, and an escort of guards rode out to meet the messenger of Mordor. Unsurprisingly, their emissary comprised of the rider, the Witch-King, and an escort of orcs.

"You've suffered many losses," the rider said, his voice cold. "More losses than I care to think about."

Aragorn remained silent, biting back the retort that he longed to throw at the rider.

"You've had a taste of the power that Sauron can unleash upon your precious city," the Witch King continued. "Now imagine last night, but a thousand times worse. We decided to be nice, and kept half our forces behind the lines."

"What do you want?" snapped Aragorn.

"I have a proposition," said the rider. "A duel. The rules are simple – each side chooses a warrior to represent them. These warriors compete in a fight to the death – no external help, no horses, just them and their weapon of choice. The winner takes all. If your warrior wins, our forces withdraw, and you can claim a victory over Sauron. If we win, our forces move in, take over the city, and Gondor serves the black land."

"And the alternative?" Gandalf asked.

"The siege continues, and you experience an endless barrage of days like last night, until Gondor falls," the Witch-King laughed.

"You have until dusk to choose your warrior. Meet us out here on the fields of Pelennor, with any who wish to watch. Should you fail to return, the siege will recommence. Choose swiftly."

With that, the emissary of Mordor turned and rode back to their waiting army.

"Wait!" Boromir called after them.

The rider halted, looking back, while the others rode on ahead.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Boromir. "Sauron's never willingly pulled back, so why should he now? Why give us the chance?"

The rider smiled under his hood. "Both sides suffered losses, son of Denethor."

The emissary of Gondor and Rohan looked at Aragorn, who watched the retreating backs of the Witch-King and the nameless rider.

"What do we do now?" asked Gimli.

"I will meet them at dusk," Aragorn replied grimly. "And I will crush whichever warrior they choose to stand against me."

"They will not keep their word," Gandalf muttered. "As Boromir said, Sauron has never pulled back in the past until his army was crushed, so why would he do so now?"

"Maybe he won't," Aragorn replied. "But that will not stop me from wiping their warrior off the face of the earth."

* * *

_At dusk..._

Aragorn refused to listen to the various requests that somebody else go in his stead. He would not let another life be lost needlessly.

He rode out with the same people as he had that morning, but also with Merry, Pippin, and more guards. Denethor remained behind the city walls, planning on watching from there.

He met with the same emissary of Mordor.

"Have you chosen your warrior?" asked the Witch-King.

Aragorn nodded, dismounting from his horse. The nameless rider also dismounted, and Mordor's emissary rode back, giving the pair a decent space to fight.

_I thought it would be him._

Aragorn drew Anduril. The rider drew one knife from his belt.

The pair circled each other in a deadly dance, their gaze never moving from the other's face.

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy this," the rider said, his tone laden with lethal amusement.

Aragorn suddenly lunged forwards, bringing Anduril down to meet with the rider's blade. He spun around, but that move got parried too. Aragorn lunged forward, intending to stab the rider's stomach, but the rider spun out of the way.

The rider then went on the offensive. In a succession of quick moves, the rider's knife met with Anduril several times, forcing Aragorn to block him repeatedly. The rider then drew a second knife from his belt, and swung it around to hit Aragorn's side. Aragorn was forced to block it before it sliced through his torso.

Aragorn suddenly hooked his leg around the rider's, and knocked him over backwards, one of his knives flying across the floor. But the rider swung his legs around, catching Aragorn's, and sent him sprawling into the dirt. The rider used this time to get up, and pick up his second knife. Aragorn chased him, catching up with him and bringing his sword down onto the rider's head. The rider spun just in time to cross his blades together, so that the sword was stopped above his head.

Aragorn swung Anduril to hit the rider's side, but the rider somersaulted out of the way.

"Rule number one," he said happily. "Never use the same moves your opponent used against you."

Aragorn felt anger flare up inside him. He jumped forward, intending to plunge the tip of Anduril into the rider's stomach. The rider sidestepped it, before knocking the outstretched sword in the opposite direction, making Aragorn lose his balance.

"Rule number two," the rider smirked. "Don't use the same move twice."

"Who are you?" snarled Aragorn.

The rider laughed as Aragorn got to his feet. He was tiring, but the rider seemed relaxed, as though he had just started. He suddenly lunged forward, bringing his sword down on the rider's head. The rider parried it, and Aragorn pulled out the dagger that he had got from Lothlórien, swung it upwards to catch the rider's hood. The rider spun around to face the forces of Mordor, and so that his back was to Aragorn and Minas Tirith. A mass of blonde hair fell out of his hood.

"And rule number three," the rider said, amusement colouring his voice. "Be careful what you wish for."

The rider turned to face him. Aragorn dropped his sword as his mouth fell open with shock. He could hear cries of '_No!_' from Merry and Pippin. He heard Gimli swear in dwarvish.

The rider was Legolas.

* * *

**A/N: Congratulations to everyone who guessed. Before people come after me with lynch mobs and pitchforks and torches and other stuff, please wait until you hear Legolas' motives. I promise, they sort of justify this...**


	10. Sell Your Soul to the Devil

Sell Your Soul to the Devil

"W-What?" Aragorn stuttered.

His head was spinning. _This can't be happening,_ he thought._ This is some sort of sick joke, it has to be! Any minute now, Legolas is going to laugh like he always does, and then he'll come back over here and help us defeat Sauron. Legolas can't be working for him, he can't!_

But Legolas did not laugh. "This isn't a joke, Aragorn. Do you want me to prove it?"

Without waiting for a response, the elf brought his knives down onto Aragorn. He raised Anduril to block the constant aggressive moves, moves that he now realised he knew all too well. He recognised the bloodlust in his friend's eyes, but he had never thought that the expression Legolas now bore on his face would ever be turned upon him. He knew that Legolas was going for the kill, and that broke his heart. One of the knives sliced through his tricep, and a burning pain spread though his arm. He realised that the knives he bore were the same knives that he had used with the Fellowship, the same knives that had been used to save Aragorn's life more times than either cared to admit, he had been a fool not to see it before...

Aragorn threw him away. "Legolas, it's me!" he pleaded. "It's Aragorn!"

"You think I don't know that?" Legolas hissed. "I haven't forgotten who you are. It's not that I don't recognise you."

Legolas grabbed him. Aragorn's unwillingness to hurt one of his oldest friends showed itself as Legolas spun him around quickly so that Aragorn's back was to Legolas' chest. The elf grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked it down, exposing Aragorn's throat, to which the elf pressed his knife to. Aragorn let out an almost imperceptible sob.

Legolas threw back his head and laughed. It was the same beautiful sound that Aragorn had heard a thousand times before, only this time it sent shivers down his spine, breaking his heart. "Are you _crying?_" he laughed derisively. His voice carried back to Minas Tirith and to the frontlines of Mordor's forces.

"Please..." Aragorn whispered.

"What was that?" Legolas asked. "I didn't quite catch it. Why don't you speak up so that we can all hear you."

Aragorn remained silent, tears forming in his eyes.

"I said _SPEAK UP!_" the elf screamed, yanking Aragorn's hair back sharply, making almost everyone jump. Legolas threw Aragorn onto the ground, where he lay sprawled. Legolas kicked the dirt into Aragorn's eyes, before grabbing his neck and pressing his knife to it again.

"Why?" Aragorn whispered. "Why did you do this?"

Legolas removed his hand from the man's throat, placing it against the tip of his knife. "What greater motive is there to do something," Legolas replied softly, so that only Aragorn could hear, "than to protect the ones you count as dear as brothers?"

At this, Aragorn suddenly lost what little self control he had. He brought one knee so that it collided painfully with Legolas' chest. He leapt to his feet, kicked his knives out of his reach, and pressed the tip of Anduril to Legolas' throat.

"Well go on then," Legolas said, smiling. "Kill me. You've already condemned me to death, so why not just carry out the sentence?"

Aragorn paused, the sword balanced precariously over his best friend's neck.

"The fight is over," he snarled, removing the tip and sheathing his sword, before walking away.

Legolas stared after him incredulously, before getting to his feet and chasing after him.

"You coward!" he yelled. "The fight only ends when one of us is killed! We are both still alive and-"

Aragorn spun round and grabbed the elf by his neck. "I _said:_ the fight is over."

Aragorn threw him away, and Legolas strode with as much dignity as he could muster back to his horse, while Aragorn walked straight past his own, not even acknowledging the others' existences. As Legolas mounted his horse, he suddenly turned to Merry and Pippin.

"Oh, you little Halflings, you sit there so arrogantly!" he screamed. His face looked deranged. "Only now do you see the price that your freedom was bought for! This is _all your fault!_"

* * *

Aragorn remained silent as he headed back to the Citadel. He sat in utter silence while the others discussed the evening's events.

"I'm sorry, but _who_ was that elf?" asked Théoden. He and Éomer had been left in the dark, confused at the shock, confusion and outrage shared by the Fellowship.

"That elf was a member of our company," explained Merry, shell-shocked. "He was captured with me and Pippin, and he must have agreed to work for Sauron in exchange for our freedom."

Boromir suddenly swept his hand over a table with a cry, knocking everything off. "I can't believe it!" he screamed. "He killed _Faramir?_" Not content with the piles of books on the floor, he decided to knock over the table as well.

"Legolas' treachery is a grave blow," Gandalf said, and he was the only one who had remained calm. "Indeed I fear that the quest is in jeopardy. But still, regardless of this setback, we have a war to fight. And we cannot let this get in our way."

"But what can we do?" Gimli snarled. "We are outnumbered, whatever hope there was for Frodo and Sam is gone, and soon the army will no doubt double in size and strength. We will not win this war."

"We could send word to Elrond-"

"Why are you so quick to trust the elves?" snarled Boromir. He had become deeply uncomfortable around them ever since his stay at Lothlórien, and the evening's events had only intensified this feeling. "Hasn't this taught you _anything?_ The elves cannot help us! It was their idea to send the Ring into Mordor, which is now doomed to fail! The Ring should have been kept safe, not handed back to the enemy on a plate! This whole thing was folly! And now we must pay the price for the elves' stupidity!"

Aragorn glared at him, willing that Boromir would fall silent. "You do not know what you are saying, Boromir. You do not have the power to wield it, and nor does anyone else. We only had the choice to destroy the Ring, and the only way we could do that is to send it into Mordor."

Aragorn got up and left the room without another word. Finally alone, he let down the facade that he had tried so hard to build. He locked himself in a bathroom, and leant over the basin. He thought about his lifelong friendship with Legolas, about their first meeting, when he was only a small child, and then about their last meeting. The thought made him feel sick, and he threw up into the basin. Tears fell down his face, and his knees gave way. He collapsed onto the floor, where he lay, a sobbing wreck of the man he could have been.


	11. Explanations

Explanations

It was some time before Aragorn stirred. He finally got to his feet and staggered out of the room. He gathered his weapons, and decided to change into his old ranger's clothes. He was going out alone. He needed some answers, badly.

* * *

He slipped out of the city with ease, getting over the wall much as Legolas had done on the first night of the siege. He moved like a ghost towards Mordor's armies, but stayed hidden in a small copse of trees nearby. There he waited for the best part of an hour, until an unsuspecting orc walked into said copse. He killed it, stabbing it in the back before it could scream, and stole its armour.

He then walked into Mordor's camp, dressed in the armour of the dead orc. Nobody stopped him, and he kept his face pointed firmly at the ground, lest anyone should realise that he had grey eyes as opposed to bloodshot yellow.

Thankfully nobody cared enough about him to give him a second glance. Now all he had to do was find–

At that exact moment, because he hadn't been looking where he was going, he crashed into an orc that was about his height.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" the orc snapped.

"Sorry," Aragorn muttered, trying to push past.

"Sorry?" the orc replied incredulously. "You think that 'sorry' is going to get me off your case?"

"What else can I say?"

"And I suppose you're the one who's been stealing my rations?" snarled the orc.

"N-No..." Aragorn replied, confused.

"Huh, a likely story."

"No, I haven't, I swear it-"

"Oh, you swear it, do you?" the orc said, drawing its sword. "What do you swear it on? Your own life?"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" screamed a voice. Aragorn wheeled around, to find the one person who he was looking for pushing his way through the crowd. "What on _earth_ is going on?"

"This _maggot_ has been stealing my food!" snarled the orc.

"Has he now?" Legolas asked coolly. He stared long and hard at Aragorn, who looked away.

Legolas took out a lump of bread from his pocket and tossed it to the orc. "There you go. Problem solved."

"What? I can't eat this!"

"You can and you will. It won't kill you, but I might. So you'll eat it, and you'll enjoy it. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good. And you," Legolas pointed to Aragorn. "My tent. Now."

-:-

Somehow Legolas was of a high enough rank to earn a tent of his own. He nodded at the guard, who left quickly, and led Aragorn inside.

The tent was small, but large enough to house a bed and a table, with a jug of wine standing on it. Once inside, Legolas laughed lightly, before turning to face him, leaning on the foot of his bed.

"Nicely done, Aragorn, you nearly started a riot."

Aragorn remained silent, staring at Legolas. _How could he have realised it was me?_

"Oh don't give me that look, you're about as subtle as an elf in Erebor. Now why don't you take off that ridiculous armour and you can ask me whatever it is you came to ask."

Aragorn glared at him, before pulling off the helmet.

"I have to say, of all the ways I expected you to come, dressed up in a pile of ill-fitting metal was not on the top of my list."

"How did you know I would come?" Aragorn asked warily.

"I held a knife to your throat this evening and sliced open your arm. It was a fair guess that you would want an explanation. How _is_ your arm, by the way?"

Aragorn felt a surge of anger as Legolas' gaze glossed over the bandage roughly tied around his upper arm. "It's fine," he ground out.

"That's good," Legolas smiled. "Now... what was it you came here to ask me?"

"Legolas, we've... we've been friends for almost all of my life, ever since I was-"

"-Seven years old, I know. Now stop beating around the bush and ask me your question."

"I... I think I have a right to know... Why did you do this?"

Legolas pushed himself up, before walking over to the jug of wine. He pulled out two glasses, filled them, and handed one to Aragorn. "Aragorn, do you notice something that could be classed as 'unusual' in this camp?"

Aragorn paused. "You haven't raised the alarm."

Legolas nodded. "Any idea why?"

"You still care about me enough not to hand me over to Sauron? Look, what does this have anything to do with why you turned traitor?"

"All right then, if you don't want to know, suit yourself. Ask another question."

Aragorn paused. "What did you mean when you said 'what greater motive is there than to protect the ones you count as dear as brothers?'"

Legolas sighed, and took a sip of wine. "Sauron and I have a contract."

Aragorn raised his eyebrows.

"This contract has been sealed in blood, and contains more power than anything else that walks this earth. A power far older than Sauron himself."

"What does this contract contain?" Aragorn asked.

"That I work for Sauron. I do what he orders me to do, when he orders me to do it, I aid him, I swear my allegiance to him, in short, that I become another servant of him. And in return... I get protection."

"Protection?" Aragorn asked sceptically.

"Oh, not for myself," Legolas clarified. "But for the Fellowship. Mordor cannot touch them. For as long as I serve Sauron, nothing in Mordor can harm the Fellowship, imprison the Fellowship, kill the Fellowship, etcetera etcetera. Sauron will feel whatever hurt that has been inflicted upon them, but a thousand times worse."

"But you sliced open my arm..."

"Yes, I did. There is one way that Sauron can harm the Fellowship – if I do it for him. Sauron insisted that that was put into the contract, and I thought that I would never wish to do it, so I put it in. That's why I haven't raised the alarm. Because it wouldn't make any difference. If I wanted you dead..." Legolas took another sip of wine, "...I'd have done it myself."

"Did you tell him about Frodo and Sam?" Aragorn asked.

"Of course I did," Legolas smiled from behind his glass. "Isn't that the whole point of switching sides? So that you help your new side win?"

"But you just-"

"Aragorn, Sauron already knew what their plan was. He had guards stationed outside the Mountain of Fire, morning, noon, and night. The only thing I told him that was new to him was that the Ring was being carried by two hobbits. At least this way I could save their lives."

"And condemn us all to death in the process," hissed Aragorn.

"Aragorn, haven't you been listening?" Legolas snapped. "The Ring was going to be found anyway! All I have done is hasten the process along a little bit, and spared your lives in the process. For as long as I continue to serve Sauron, you, and all the rest of the Fellowship, can walk free."

"So that's why that orc saved Merry's life?"

Legolas nodded. "If he hadn't, then Sauron would have died with Merry. And then Mordor would be finished."

"And while we're on the subject of last night," Aragorn said, anger flaring up inside him again. "Do you know how many people died because of your actions?"

"Again, the gate was close to breaking. All I did was hasten it along a little bit."

"Six _thousand_ people lost their lives last night!" Aragorn snarled. "Six thousand _innocent_ lives were extinguished."

"_Innocent?_" Legolas laughed derisively. "And how many lives do you think we lost?"

"They're orcs, they-"

"And orcs are somehow worse than men? What have they done that's so much worse?"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this... _You're _defending _orcs?_"

"I pity them," Legolas said bluntly. "They're starving. They're slaves to Sauron. You've seen how bad their lot is. You almost started a riot because you crashed into the wrong orc."

"That's because-"

"-They have a terrible life. Do you honestly think that their anger was sparked from nowhere? Sauron treats them terribly. It's a dog-eat-dog world for them, and they'll do _anything_ just to live another day. My orcs are as innocent as your men."

"My men were just following orders!" Aragorn snapped.

"And so were mine!"

Aragorn paused. "Two thousand of those deaths were civilians. You're not going to tell me that they deserved to die."

"Tell me," Legolas asked. "If your men came across an orc camp, but there was no evidence that these orcs had ever seen battle, do you honestly think that your men wouldn't kill them?"

Aragorn paused. "This doesn't excuse your actions!"

"No, it doesn't," Legolas admitted. "But as I said before, the gate would have broken anyway, I merely hastened it along a bit." He paused. "You do realise that, given as how we both survived, the siege is going to contine?"

"I hate you," hissed Aragorn. "I really, _really_ hate you."

"No you don't," Legolas said. "If you did, I'd be dead. _I_ hate me. I hate what I've done. But I can't kill myself. If I did, you'd lose whatever protection you had."

"What, so this contract can be broken?"

"Yes. It can be broken by either one of us. All he has to say to me is that he releases me from his service, or else I tell him that I wish to leave. The contract ends, and you lose what protection you have."

"Then why don't you?" Aragorn begged him. "I'm guessing you did it to save Merry and Pippin, but they're safe now. So why don't you come back to help us?"

"Because Frodo and Sam are still out there. They _will_ be found. And when they are, the Ring will go back to Sauron, and unless I'm here with him, then the entire Fellowship will die. I'm not risking your deaths for the sake of my liberty."

Aragorn looked at him, tears forming in his eyes.

"Now you had better put that helmet back on and leave here before Sauron comes in and finds me talking to you. Because if he does, he'll probably break the contract and kill us both."

"What? Sauron's here?"

"Yes, he is," replied Legolas. "Just because he's not stupid enough to lead the charge does not mean to say that he's not coordinating every move."

* * *

Legolas walked Aragorn to the edge of the camp, ensuring that no orc came anywhere near him. When they arrived at the copse of trees, Legolas threw him down onto his face, before turning and walking away without another word.

Aragorn pulled off the armour, before heading back to the city. Truth be told, his meeting with Legolas had raised far more questions than it had answered. For example, who really _was_ the bad side?

Aragorn slipped into the city unnoticed, although he couldn't remember how. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he was barely conscious of where he was putting his feet, and it was a miracle that he made it back to the top level.

"So?" came a voice, snapping him out of his reverie. "Did he tell you why he did it?"

Aragorn turned around to see Gandalf walking across the courtyard to him.

"How did you know where I had gone?"

"You had mysteriously vanished after you had found out that your best friend had turned traitor. It was a logical assumption that you had gone to find an explanation."

Aragorn nodded.

"Well? Did he give you a reason as to why he abandoned us?"

Aragorn nodded again. "He... He did it to save us all..."


	12. Capture

Capture

Legolas felt torn. He wanted nothing more than to return to Aragorn and the rest of the Fellowship, but with Frodo still out there he felt it was his duty to remain with Sauron, to ensure that the hobbit could get out of there alive. He had only assumed this, given as how he had not seen them with the rest of the Fellowship, when even Mithrandir had been there, he had assumed had gone off to Mordor alone, and Aragorn hadn't contradicted him. He was now stuck with ensuring that a tyrant would reclaim the power that he had never hoped to see him gain. And he hated every second of his service.

He had not lied to Aragorn – he truly did feel pity for the orcs. But he _did_ hate Sauron. The leader of Mordor was tyrannical and cruel. He looked upon his victims with detachment. When he killed something, he killed it in a cold calculated way, and, unlike Legolas, he was not stirred to pity by the fear in their eyes. He was a seasoned warrior, a practiced leader, and a perfect villain.

And Legolas hated him for it.

And somehow, he had managed to get himself into a situation where he served this... monster.

Interrupting Legolas' thoughts, an orc entered the tent.

"Sir, the Dark Lord wishes to speak with you."

Legolas nearly wept at the thought that an orc called him 'sir' and he was having conversations with 'the Dark Lord' himself. He never thought it would come to this.

-:-

He swept into the tent, hood thrown over his face. "Well, my lord, what is it? What is so important that required me to be dragged out of bed in the middle of the night?"

Sauron turned around. "Our scouts have just picked up three creatures near Minas Morgul. We thought you might like to see them."

At that point, three orcs entered, bringing with them three smaller figures. One, Legolas recognised from his home, when he had been jailor. The other two he had last seen on the day of his capture.

Frodo, Sam, and Gollum.

"Kill the skulking creature," Sauron ordered. "It doesn't deserve to live another second."

Legolas walked forwards, and dragged Gollum into the centre of the tent. He drew one of his knives, and held the creature tightly as it struggled and pulled away from the knife, screaming out as he did so.

"Try to do it cleanly, I don't want to have blood all over the walls."

Legolas resisted the urge to punch Sauron as this remark fell casually from his lips. He had coldly ordered the execution of this pitiful figure, and was most concerned about blood on the walls.

"I am so sorry," he whispered to Gollum, before raising his knife, and plunging it through the creature's chest. Frodo and Sam turned away in shock, not wishing to witness the murder of their guide. As they turned back to see the still form of Gollum lying on the floor, Legolas noticed a glint of grim satisfaction in Sam's eyes.

"Good, now," Sauron nodded to one of the orcs. "Get it out of here, it's not adding to the decor."

"Why?" snapped Frodo. "I would have thought that a dead body would have been perfect decoration for a heartless tyrant!"

"Do not be so insolent," Legolas advised. "Your situation is precarious enough as it is."

"Indeed," Frodo snarled. "His servants are just as heartless!"

These words stung, but Legolas reminded himself that Frodo did not know the whole story.

"Watch your tongue!" snapped Sauron. He turned to Legolas. "Give him a taste of our displeasure," he ordered.

Legolas suddenly looked at Sauron, alarmed. "No."

"That's an _order!_"

"I don't want to."

"Do it! _Now!_"

Legolas set his jaw, before turning around and backhanding Frodo. The hobbit collapsed sideways with the force of the strike. However, surprisingly, Sauron also clutched his cheek.

"What in all of Middle Earth was that?" asked the tyrant.

"I told you, I didn't want to do that," Legolas answered. "But you forced me to. So it's just like you did it yourself."

"What are you going to do to us?" snarled Sam. If he was to die here in this cold tent, then he would rather die soon.

"I?" Sauron asked. "Nothing. Your fate is in the hands of your friend." He gestured to the tall hooded elf.

"Friend?" asked Frodo sceptically, looking at Legolas. "I've never met him before, and from what I've seen of him, he seems to be more of a foe."

"There was once a time that you trusted me implicitly," Legolas said, unable to keep the tone of sadness out of his voice. "A time when we travelled together. A time when you called me a friend."

"Who are you?" asked Sam, his voice laced with the open hostility that he felt.

Legolas pulled down his hood, and turned to face the two hobbits. The disbelief on their faces was mirrored inside Legolas' very soul, a small part that was unable to comprehend his own actions.

Sauron smiled grimly as he watched the bitter reunion of the three members of the Fellowhip.

"Bring me the Ring, Legolas," he ordered.

Legolas crouched down in front of Frodo, and his hand clenched around the chain that hung from the hobbit's neck.

"I am sorry," he whispered, before tearing the Ring from Frodo.

Frodo looked at the elf disbelievingly. He mouthed wordlessly as he watched the elf straighten up. As Legolas was about to turn back to Sauron, one world finally escaped his lips.

"NO!" he screamed, grabbing hold of Legolas' arm – the one which had the Ring clenched in its fist. But Legolas simply flicked his wrist up, tossing it to his other hand, before yanking his arm free. Frodo was sent sprawling onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, as the elf he had once considered his protector handed the Ring of Power over to its master. The whole world seemed to darken as the Lord of the Land of Shadow slid it onto his finger.


	13. Bittersweet Reunions

Bittersweet Reunions

At dawn the next day, Legolas rode up to the gate of Minas Tirith.

"May the Heir of Elendil come and reclaim his greatest weapon against the Dark Lord, Sauron the Great!" he shouted, before riding back to the army.

Aragorn cast the elf a glare so cold that all the air between them seemed to freeze. For the third time in two days he rode out onto the fields of Pelennor to meet with Legolas. And he had a feeling he knew exactly what this was about...

Sure enough, when he arrived in front of Sauron's army, Legolas was not astride his horse, but standing beside it. His hood was down, the beauty gifted to the Firstborn arrogantly displayed as an insult to the Valar. Without a word, he walked forwards, dragging Frodo and Sam behind him. When he had reached the halfway point in the space between Mordor's army and Aragorn, he threw the hobbits onto the floor.

"You monster!" screamed out Sam as Legolas walked away. "You cold hearted _monster!_ And to think that I used to look up to you!"

Legolas suddenly whipped around, and grabbed Sam around the neck so tightly that the hobbit choked.

"You have no idea what I've done for you!" he hissed, his anger finally getting the better of him. "What I gave up to save you!"

The elf threw Sam away, and the hobbit staggered back, massaging his throat.

"Go on!" Legolas snapped. "Be with your friends. And be thankful that you still breathe."

Legolas turned away again, this time not looking back. Sam, however, remained where he was. He watched as Frodo walked back towards Gandalf, his eyes glazed over. The Ring had bound itself to the hobbit's very soul, and when it had been taken from him by an elf that he had believed he could trust, his soul had ripped as those bonds broke.

He wasn't conscious of Sam's attempt to seek retribution on his behalf. He didn't notice Merry, Pippin, Aragorn, or Gimli. His eyes glossed over Gandalf, not pondering the riddle that one whom he had believed was dead now stood before him. Of all the Fellowship, his eyes flitted to the one whom he had found most difficult to trust. He glanced briefly at Boromir, the first one to betray him, the one who had failed to succeed, and Boromir suddenly caught a glimpse of the power the Ring held over Frodo.

His eyes seemed unchanged, but there was... _nothing_ there anymore. Eyes that once held sparkle now held an abyss, darker than the depths of Khazad-dûm, yet more terrifying. The sheer absence of anything in his eyes was just a fleeting image, a clouded projection of what lay beneath the hobbit's skin. And yet, as Frodo looked at him, a spark of one emotion appeared in the depths, so deep it was almost unnoticeable – a spark of rage.

It was only a fleeting glance, a connection that lasted but for a moment, but it told Boromir more than anything else ever could. And scared him senseless in the process.

As Frodo and the rest of the company rode to the Citadel of Minas Tirith, the hobbit barely registered the flaming stones fired from catapults that wreaked havoc, putting this once-great city to ruin.

* * *

Aragorn winced as the first stone crashed into the city. Allowing Sam a chance to dismount, he turned his horse around and started down the road again.

"Where do you think you're going?" Gimli called after him.

"It doesn't matter," Aragorn turned to ride away, but stopped to add as an afterthought: "Oh, and if you see Legolas, don't kill him yet. By all means, capture him, imprison him, vent out all your frustration on him, but don't kill him. At least, not until I'm back."

And with that, the future King of Gondor rode away.

Gandalf watched him go, struggling not to be infuriated by the man's complete lack of explanation. He hadn't told anyone what had transpired when he had slipped into the night to talk to Legolas, but he assumed that Aragorn's current insanity was an extension of his conversation.

-:-

Legolas was had no such troubles with Aragorn's actions. He had no doubt that the man would be completely reckless and chase after Sauron, but he also knew that the man would have a hard time getting through the mass of orcs that formed a physical barrier which would prevent him from getting past.

He decided to enter the city much in the same way that he had entered it before. He rode around to the eastern side, near the cliff-face, before shooting a single arrow with a rope tied to it over the top of the wall. It sunk into the wood of a catapult, latching itself there, and the light elf began to climb the rope.

He leapt over the battlements, and began to head along the wall to see to the smaller gates. No doubt after the first night he would not be able to pull off another stunt like he had, because the main gates would no doubt be guarded.

Yet as he was about to jump down from the wall into the city, he felt something collide painfully with his side. He was thrown onto the floor, while somebody grabbed his wrist. He spun around, intending to throw whoever had just proven themselves a minor inconvenience, when he came face to face with Aragorn. Aragorn, however, was not going to let the elf get up, and shifted his weight onto the elf's chest, while grabbing his other wrist.

"Rule number two – never repeat the same move twice," Aragorn said as he hauled Legolas to his feet and tied his hands behind his back, a feat that Legolas was certainly not making easy for him. "You taught me that, remember."

"Let me go right now, Aragorn, or I swear to Eru Ilúvatar that I will drag you by your hair to the mountain of fire and throw you in _myself!_" Legolas snarled.

Legolas barely suffered himself to be led to the Citadel, screaming curses to all men, occasionally throwing the Heir of Isildur's name in there amidst the countless others that he chose to damn.

When the pair finally arrived back at the Citadel, Aragorn had planned to lead Legolas to the dungeons. However, at the exact point that they arrived, Boromir also arrived back in the courtyard with Gandalf and Gimli. Boromir took one look at the elf, before losing what little temper he had.

He dismounted and marched straight up to Legolas, before punching him in the nose. The elf staggered, before straightening up. He looked like he was about to attack Boromir, the fact that his hands were bound proved only a slight inconvenience, before Aragorn held him back and Gandalf hauled the man to his feet without letting go.

"I hate you!" Boromir screamed. "Why did Faramir have to die? _Why did he die?_"

Legolas simply stood there, a cold smile gracing his lips.

"What had he done that was so wrong?" Boromir continued, tears filling his eyes. "What crime had he committed that warranted death?"

Legolas still didn't move, the only response was that his smile grew even wider.

"ANSWER ME!"

"Your brother deserved to die!" Legolas finally snarled. "He deserved everything he got!"

Boromir lunged forward with a cry. It was only by Gandalf's restraint that the pair weren't tussling on the floor at that very moment. The members of the Fellowship present glared at Legolas with ill-disguised loathing, if the disguise was there at all.

"I hate you!" screamed Boromir as Legolas was led away. "_I HATE YOU!_"

* * *

"My lord!" called one of his captains. "My lord!"

"Yes, what is it?" he replied, with barely concealed impatience.

"My lord, it's the elf," the captain panted. "He's been captured."

_Of course he has._

He decided not to let it bother him. The elf was useful, but not absolutely necessary to his plans. If the elf couldn't figure out how to get out of that place alone, then there was very little to be done for it. _He_ certainly wasn't going to risk losing his battle for the sake of helping one of his servants.

"Well, my lord?" asked the captain. "What do we do?"

He paused, thinking about what should be done. His forces would have to carry on as normal. After all, the elf was only a captain. They could live without him for a while.

"Give it two days."


	14. Right and Wrong

Right and Wrong

Legolas was leaning against the wall in the corner of the cell, his arms folded, his hood up and his head bowed. So far nobody had been able to elicit a response from him, no matter how hard they tried. Legolas wouldn't speak, wouldn't look at them, wouldn't even move.

It was nightfall when Boromir entered the cell secretly, dismissing the guards. He shut the cell door, but chose not to lock it in case he needed to leave there quickly.

"What did you mean?" Boromir asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. "What did you mean when you said that my brother deserved to die?"

No response. Not that Boromir had high hopes.

"Why did you kill my brother?"

"I told you, he deserved it," Legolas said unexpectedly. His voice was calm.

"Why?" Boromir asked, his ire mounting. "Why did he deserve it? What had he done?"

"It wasn't what _he_ had done," Legolas replied, his voice still carried the maddening serenity that made Boromir want to punch him.

"Have _I_ done something?" Boromir asked incredulously. "Has my brother paid the price for something that _I've_ done?" Truth be told, that made more sense. He had made no effort of disguising his resentment of Legolas' race in Lothlórien or on the Anduin.

No answer.

"TELL ME!" Boromir all but roared.

"It was your father," Legolas finally explained. "Your brother didn't deserve to be treated like that. It was a terrible way to spend your life. I'd been watching his futile attempts at impressing your father, and I pitied him. So I gave him what he deserved: a quick and relatively painless way out of this life. He's better off dead."

Boromir stared at the elf. "You cannot be serious..."

Once again, no answer.

"If that's your justification, then let me tell you that my brother did _not_ deserve to die! My father loved Faramir!"

"Really?" And just for once, a cool anger crept into his voice. "Would it hurt him to _show_ that once in a while?"

Boromir changed tack. "Of course, this is how you live with yourself, isn't it? This is how you condone the slaughter of many innocent people!"

Legolas didn't answer, but he raised his head.

"Aragorn finally told us what happened when he _sneaked_ off into your camp," Boromir spat. "And you somehow are so _arrogant_ that you justify your actions by saying that '_the gate would have broken anyway,_' or that '_he had such a hard life and deserved to die,_' or-"

"Well that's not so different from how you justify the slaughter of orcs, isn't it?"

"Oh, because that's so-"

"Actually, it _is_ similar," Legolas snapped. "You think you're so _noble_ because you kill orcs. You never once question whether they might be better if they were shown the slightest bit of mercy."

"They wouldn't show any mercy to us!" Boromir yelled.

"Because they're scared of what will happen if they do. They might have been more willing to turn against Sauron if the earlier orcs were shown some sense of respect, but _no,_ the mighty warriors killed them because they were _different!_ They only stay with Sauron because they know that they will be killed if they go anywhere else! They may not be evil at heart, but they have their true emotions masked by layers of hatred for those that would kill them! You think that they do not have emotions just because they're _ugly_, or because they were forced into slavery by Sauron? Well, they've been affected by the deaths of their companions just as much as any man, elf or dwarf would be! Yet you shut your eyes and pretend it's not there, because you're scared that if you open them then you might be ashamed of what you would see!"

Boromir was left dumbstruck.

"It always comes back to this," Legolas said, his voice changing from the increased level of anger back to the epitome of calm. "Who is right and who is wrong. Don't think that you're so brilliant, just because you've fought for the side that you've been told is good. So many others did just that, and they died for it. Just because you think that you're fighting evil does not make the soldiers bad. Your brother understood this. Choose your path carefully. And don't judge people for the standard that they have been ordered to carry. Nobody deserves that."

The pair stood in complete silence for a while, before Legolas completely surprised Boromir.

"What time is it?"

Boromir eyed the elf suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just because we're on different sides does not mean that I don't appreciate the stars. Speaking of which," Legolas smiled maliciously, "You're about to see some."

Legolas suddenly planted a fist onto Boromir's face, before hitting him in the stomach. Boromir couldn't help but marvel at the speed in which Legolas had changed from calm and righteous to violent and aggressive.

"Please don't take this _too_ personally," Legolas said as he grabbed the keys to the cell from Boromir's hand. "You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Legolas ran out of the cell, locking Boromir in it afterwards, before pocketing the keys. They could prove useful later.

It didn't take him long to find his knives, quiver and bow. Aragorn had stowed them in a room very near to his cell, and either it was the changing of the guards or else the guards had slipped off, because nobody bothered to confront the elf as he slipped into the room, stole his weapons back and left.

Again, he had very little trouble sneaking out of the palace, simply knocking out the guards that stood in his way with a sharp blow to the back of the head – not life-threatening, but enough to render them unconscious for a couple of hours. He decided that stealth was more important than speed, and elected not to steal a horse, but chose to abseil down the outer wall. As he walked away from the city, he smiled to himself as he imagined all the various curses that he knew Boromir would be screaming at him.

* * *

"You escaped the city even quicker than I expected," Sauron said, without looking up from his map.

Legolas was leaning nonchalantly against one of the poles that held the tent up.

"You truly have _that_ little faith in me?" Legolas replied.

"No, I have that _much_ faith in Gondor. So far they have successfully managed to drive back two of my assaults and I am _really _not happy about that."

"You could always send out-"

"NO!" snapped the Dark Lord, guessing what Legolas was about to say. "I will only send them out when, and _only_ when I have no other choice."

"With all due respect, you may not _have_ another choice. You cannot keep assaulting Minas Tirith in waves – Gondor will drive them back time after time. You need to make one big charge, involving your _entire_ force."

"Do you think that hasn't occurred to me."

"Oh, I think it's occurred to you plenty of times, you were just afraid of what would happen should it fail. You would be left completely defenceless, and that was something you weren't prepared to risk."

Sauron glared at the elf, who was completely nonplussed by his master's anger.

"The simple fact is, your soldiers get killed if they don't come in big enough waves. Because the combined forces of Gondor and Rohan are strong enough to repel them. You cannot play it safe anymore. This is your choice: send all your troops forward, or send all your troops back."

Sauron gritted his teeth, before his fingers fastened around a model that represented a battalion of orcs. He hurled the small obsidian block at Legolas, who caught it deftly. The elf walked over and replaced it on the map. It was only then that he noticed, in the part of the map that represented the camp he was in now, a single flag of Rohan.

"I never thought you were one for taking prisoners," Legolas laughed.

"I'm not. It's just that this particular prisoner could prove very useful."

Legolas raised one of his eyebrows.

"She was brought back by Sharkzul," Sauron said, referring to the orc who had accosted Aragorn the night before.

"'_She'_?"

"Yes, a girl dressed in the garb of a Rohan warrior. She's apparently the niece of the king of Rohan. I gave her to the orcs for their own entertainment, but if you want her I imagine that you could claim her if you wanted a bit of fun."

The smile slipped from Legolas' face, but he nodded and left the tent. Sauron, with a feeling of satisfaction, turned back to his map to ponder which strategy he should use.

-:-

Legolas had absolutely no intention of using this woman, however. He marched straight into the circle, where a group of orcs were jeering at something in the centre, rather like how he had been laughed at when he himself had been captured. He couldn't help but pity her.

When he finally forced his way through the circle of laughing orcs, he was met with the sight of one orc pushing a young woman around. Her clothes were ripped, and her hair had been pulled loose, yet she still held herself with a level of dignity that Legolas could only admire.

Yet the way that the orcs threw her from one side of the circle to another was something that he could only resent. He could tell himself as many times as he wanted that orcs deserved pity, that they only killed because they were scared of what would happen should they not, and he could believe it, but he could not justify this. If he let this go on, then there would be no way he could live with himself.

Partly he felt pity for the woman in the centre, and partly he felt anger. He had been in this situation before, and he would not stand by and allow another to go through what he had. Perhaps that was the reason for what he did next.

"Oh, come on, lovely, give us a kiss," jeered the orc in the centre, who Legolas recognised as Sharkzul. He earned a slap on his cheek for his trouble.

"Feisty as well as pretty," another on the outside laughed.

"Oh, we'll soon sort that," Sharkzul growled, drawing a small knife from his clothes.

"STOP IT!" Legolas yelled before he could stop himself.

Everyone turned to stare at Legolas, who realised that he had to do something incredibly quickly in order to retain the respect of those he commanded.

"The girl is for my entertainment only," he continued, a smile creeping onto his face. "I don't want you spoiling her."

* * *

**A/N: I'm really not great at writing escapes. Which is odd, really, because all my stories have had escapes in them so far. And yes, I do realise that a lot of what Legolas said to Boromir was repeated, but I couldn't think of any other way to explain what happens to Boromir next. And no, there won't be future Legolas/Eowyn lovey-dovey stuff... And no, you do **_**not**_** see explicit themes on the horizon, this is about as explicit as this story is going to get.**


	15. A Limit Reached

A Limit Reached

Sharkzul cast Legolas a furious glare, which Legolas returned. The orc then pushed the woman into the elf's arms, before storming away, muttering curses that Legolas could hear quite audibly.

Legolas, however, didn't care. He practically carried the woman back to his tent, set up a guard, before entering and hastily throwing whatever he needed into a bag.

"W-What are you going to do to me?" asked the woman, who was sitting on the bed, her voice betraying her fright.

"Me?" Legolas replied. "Nothing. I have no intention of harming you. Now help me pack. Anything that might be useful, throw it in this bag." He kicked the pack at the foot of his bed.

"Useful for what?"

"Leaving. Going to Minas Tirith. I've had enough of it here, and I'm sick of being bullied by one tyrant, treated like another, and constantly being loathed by the friends I'd do anything to protect."

"I... I don't understand..."

"I may have turned against my friends, but I still have limits. I will not stand idly by and watch you get hurt in a way like I was, when I can do something to stop it. There is a limit to what I can and will justify, and what was about to happen to you crossed a line. So in short, I am leaving."

There was a pause, in which Legolas continued to pack.

"What's your name?" he finally asked.

"Eowyn."

"Right, well, Eowyn, we need to move quickly, because sooner or later somebody will come looking for me, and if I'm not gone by then, well, let's just say that it could prove very difficult to leave."

Eowyn watched as he paused in his packing to pick up a piece of paper from a table, before ripping it into pieces, leaving the fragments on the pillow of his bed.

"Can you ride?" Legolas asked.

"What do you mean, '_can I ride?_'" Eowyn said indignantly. "Of course I can ride! I am a shield-maiden of Rohan! How do you think I got here, by-"

"Shh!" Legolas suddenly hissed.

He had just heard voices outside his tent, and he recognised one – Sauron. He lifted up the side of the tent and hastily bundled Eowyn out. They were only about three feet away from it when a deafening roar of rage echoed across the camp, a distance that Legolas wanted to increase greatly very quickly, and preferably put a big wall between them. However, Eowyn's main priority seemed to be to stand still and stare in horror at the tent that Sauron was now trashing.

"Move!" Legolas hissed, pushing her roughly in the direction of the stables.

The pair slipped into the stables, and Legolas freed two horses. One, his own stallion, was willing to be led outside. The other, the horse that had belonged to the Witch-King, was less tame, but Eowyn put her hand onto the horse's nose, and whispered soft words to it, and to Legolas' complete wonder, the horse calmed down and stayed still long enough for Eowyn to mount it. They both galloped out of the stables and out of the camp without much fuss, as the stables were near the trees that shielded the camp from view from Minas Tirith. It was only as the pair were about to break through the line of trees that a piercing cry of agony shattered the silence. A cry from a voice that Legolas recognised all too well.

Boromir.

* * *

_An hour earlier..._

"You took your time!" yelled an irate Boromir, as he marched out of the cell.

It was nearly midnight. Aragorn calmly removed the keys from the lock and tossed them lightly back to the guard. Boromir had been sitting in that cell for the best part of four hours, and his mood was no better for it.

"Where is Legolas?" Aragorn asked. It had been sheer accident that Gimli had walked down to the dungeons in the hope of finding something he had dropped down there earlier and found Boromir sitting, cursing violently, in a cell that was supposed to house their most important prisoner, and Aragorn was understandably furious.

"Where do you think? He _escaped!_ That two-faced, double-crossing, guilt-tripping _traitor_ locked me in the cell and just walked straight out of here!"

Aragorn sighed, as Boromir stormed past him. He knew that there would be no way that they could have a rational conversation when both he and Boromir were in extremely bad moods, and let the man go, in a vain hope that the man would drink his troubles away and dwell on words that had passed between the Steward's son and the elvish heir. Aragorn had a shrewd suspicion that he knew exactly what those words had been.

However, Boromir had no intention of augmenting his bad mood with the use of alcohol. He stormed out into the courtyard and stared at the sky.

The truth was, he had been shaken by his conversation with Legolas. He could not believe that any elf, let alone Legolas, would ever defend orcs, and yet a small part of him, the part that he now wanted to obliterate viciously, acknowledged that what Legolas was saying was right.

He loathed himself to think this, but he realised now that he would never be able to look at an orc in the same way again. Whenever he saw one, he would now think about how they had been tormented into slavery. And how they only stayed with Sauron because of how the free people of Middle Earth treated them.

_Oh no,_ he thought. _Now I've begun to PITY the orcs..._

In truth, though he desired nothing less than to acknowledge it, he was forced to face the fact that Legolas was _right._

His eyes drifted to the line of trees that concealed Mordor's camp. If what Legolas had said was true, then the one who really _was_ responsible for his brother's death, the one who _really_ had the blood of his people on their hands, resided there. If what Legolas said was true, nobody could harm him there. He was untouchable. He was invincible in that camp.

It was time to give Sauron his comeuppance.

-:-

He was never fully conscious as he left the city, and was completely unaware as to how he managed to get out undetected. However, the first thing he was fully aware of was entering the orc camp on foot.

"What do you want?" the sentry asked Boromir.

Boromir roughly pushed past the guards, and stormed into the camp. However, he had barely gone two feet when a mass of orcs surrounded him, pointing spears at the man.

"You can't touch me," Boromir laughed. "I don't know _what_ you hope to achieve by this, but I _know_ that you can't lay so much as a finger on me."

A very sarcastic clap came from behind him, and he saw, walking through the crowd, the Witch-King of Angmar.

"Ooh, well done, it's clear that you know how to play the game," the hooded black figure laughed. "Correct, none of us can harm you. However, there is someone who can."

Boromir's glare intensified. "But he would not harm me."

Boromir could not see the face of the Witch-King, but he knew, somehow, that the leader of the Nazgûl was sneering at him. "Let's find out, shall we? _Take him to the captain!_" he barked at the orcs.

"The captain says he is not to be disturbed," an orc said bitterly. "He's having a bit of fun with the prisoner."

"No matter," the Witch-King turned to the orcs. "Take him to the Dark Lord, and then we shall see to the captain."

"_You can't take me anywhere!_" spat Boromir. "You can't touch me!"

"Correction: we cannot cause you _pain_. But this," the Witch-King grasped the man's shoulder firmly, "doesn't hurt, now, _does it?_"

-:-

"I must admit, I'm confused as to what you planned on doing here, son of Denethor," Sauron spoke lightly, not so much as looking up, but continuing to move stone blocks around his map of the area like a chessboard. If it weren't for the fact that he was speaking, Boromir would have thought that the commander of Mordor hadn't even acknowledged his presence.

Boromir chose not to answer that.

Sauron sighed, clearly very bored. "Very well, tie him up outside, I'll go and get that elf."

Boromir was practically thrown outside as Sauron left the tent and stormed over to Legolas' tent, with the Witch-King in tow. There was an orc who was clearly supposed to be stationed as a guard, but was far more interested in the meal he had somehow managed to acquire. However, as his supreme leader stormed past him, he frantically leapt to his feet.

"You can't go in there, the captain's-"

"I don't care if the captain is having a private party in there, I still command him, so if you want to live for longer than the next ten seconds, I strongly suggest that you get out of my sight!"

With that, Sauron marched straight through into the tent.

The place had been stripped bare. No weapons littered the floor, nothing stood on the table, the candle illuminating the tent was about to go out. The only thing that indicated that Legolas had ever lived there was the contract, ripped into pieces and scattered on his bed.

Sauron let out a roar of rage and denial that quelled even the most stalwart hearts of those that heard it.

-:-

"Well, it is _extremely_ bad news for you, because your _friend_ has decided to abandon you!" Sauron stormed into the clearing where Boromir was tied to a wooden pole, twitching with anger. "The good news is that this means that I get to do _whatever I want!_"

"W-What are you talking about?" stammered Boromir.

"Your plan just backfired!" Sauron yelled. He was extremely angry and he was so glad that he had somebody to take it out on.

"Oh, has Legolas finally seen sense?" Boromir shouted back. He was terrified, he had been from the moment he set foot in the camp, but his pride dictated that he could not show it. "Has he left?"

Sauron slapped Boromir hard across the face. The man hissed in pain as the hand cut his cheek.

"You know, I'm actually quite glad that he's left. He had his uses, no doubt, but this way I get to have an extraordinary amount of fun with you. For example," Sauron raised his finger and pointed it at Boromir.

All of a sudden, pain exploded across his abdomen, as Boromir felt the full extent of the power of the Ring that he had tried to seize. A fire burnt in his stomach, gradually spreading up his body. It started burning inside his head. Without knowing it, he was screaming, as the pain blinded him. Blood started dripping from his mouth, and tears mixed with blood started pouring down his face. He struggled so hard that the bonds around his wrists broke, and he was writhing on the ground in sheer agony. There was no way he could survive this...

And then, as abruptly as it had started, it stopped. Boromir was suddenly aware of his surroundings again. He lay, sobbing, on the floor, whatever sense of pride forgotten amidst the pain that he had just experienced. He heard Sauron order something, but he didn't care what. He felt a cool liquid being poured over his body, but he could not make sense of it. Nor could he make the link between that and the burning stick that the Witch-King had just taken from the fire.

"It's time for you to burn, just like I did for three thousand years," Sauron snarled, before nodding to the Witch-King.

And suddenly, Boromir understood. The liquid was oil. They were going to set him alight like a torch.

"I would think really long and carefully about your next move if I were you," came a voice from behind them.

-:-

Legolas stepped into the clearing, his knife level, pointing directly at Sauron's chest. He took in the scene before him – Boromir, lying on the floor, blood dripping from his eyes like red tears, covered in oil, the Witch-King standing over him, sword in one hand, burning stick in the other, and Sauron surveying the scene with cold calculated fury.

"What is this?" Sauron drawled, glancing at the knife.

"What, this?" Legolas flicked his wrist slightly. "I'm surprised you need to ask. It's a knife, in case you'd forgotten."

Sauron glared as Boromir gave a weak chuckle. "I didn't mean the knife. I meant, why are you pointing it at me? I'm technically your master, so why are you threatening me? Similarly, you had the chance to leave, with the girl, and yet you're still standing here with a knife pointing at me and absolutely no way out of here. Why?"

"You should know I never let others pay for my actions."

"Oh really?" Sauron asked sceptically. He nodded at the leader of the Nazgûl, who dropped the stick.

The oil ignited instantly. Boromir's screams resumed as he caught fire, rolling around desperately trying to put it out. The Witch-King dipped his sword in the remaining oil, before plunging it into the inferno that was tormenting Boromir. A cry jarred the night, and the Witch-King removed the sword and turned it onto Legolas.

The pair leapt into battle. Legolas had sparred with the Witch-King many times, and was well-accustomed to his fighting style. They could each predict the other's next move, and the peaceful tranquillity of the night (if it ever existed) was shattered once again by the clash of swords. Boromir's yells died down as he lapsed into semi-consciousness, while a flurry of blades painted silver and orange streaks on the background of black above his eyes, behind the flames that licked his chest. Nobody noticed Sauron leave the clearing.

Legolas parried the Witch-Kings swipe to his side, before retaliating with an attempted stab to the stomach – something which the Witch-King dodged. The leader of the Nazgûl brought his knee up to Legolas' kidneys, before throwing the elf over.

The elf, however, swept his legs around to catch the Witch-King's own, sending the Wraith crashing down. The end of Legolas' cloak had caught fire as he was sent to the ground, but Legolas used the time taken for the Witch-King to stand up to remove it from his neck, throwing it behind him. The pair prepared to throw themselves back into battle when an ear-splitting scream erupted from the Witch-King.

Legolas looked down to see Boromir, on the edge of consciousness, holding the hilt of a dagger that he had thrust into the Witch-King's leg. Legolas was about to drive his own knife into the leader of the Nazgûl's neck, when Boromir yanked the dagger out and drove it again, twice more, into the Witch-King's leg and torso. The third time, the man struck true. The Witch-King screamed out, but Legolas did not wait to see the demise of the Nazgûl's leader. He fled the scene, looking for water.

It took him a while to find anything suitable, and didn't even find water in the end. All he found was a barrel of beer that must have been intended for the Haradrim. However, it was cold, so it did the job. He tried to carry it back to the clearing, when he was accosted by orcs.

"Captain!"

"Sire! What's going on?"

Legolas was at a loss to explain that he needed this barrel of beer to save a man of Gondor who was currently going up in flames. Not that he needed to.

"He is not your captain!" came the voice of Sauron. "He's deserted you!"

Legolas tried smiling at the orcs in a friendly manner, but then one decided to draw his sword. Legolas picked up the barrel and ran.

Somehow, he made it to the clearing without being caught. He barely took in the pile of black fabric on the floor, before smashing the barrel over Boromir. It may not have been ideal, but it put the fire out. He whistled for his horse, who had been hiding in the trees nearby, before picking up the limp form of Boromir. He leapt on the horse as it galloped by, and vanished into the night.

He did not realise as he picked up Boromir that the chances of the man's survival were dwindling to nothing.

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Also, sorry it's so late (blame Virgil and his ****ing Aeneid), sorry that the first 1500 words were awful - I _had_ written this beautiful chapter but Windows auto-update system deleted it and failed to recover it, and sorry, Boromir-lovers! I may/may not kill him, depending on whether I'm in a good mood after my Latin exam tomorrow (which is the last one! Yay!) so there's hope for him yet. Also, I am fully aware that most of this chapter is completely infeasible/extremely coincidental to the point of unbelievable/the characters were extremely insanely stupid. So sorry about that, too. In fact, just sorry about this entire chapter. (Ooh, look at me, writing insanely long Author's Notes, despite the fact I hate them with a passion. Ok, I'll stop now.)**


	16. Twisted Words

Twisted Words

It was an hour before dawn when Legolas, having caught up with Eowyn, arrived at the gates of Minas Tirith. Unsurprisingly, he wasn't greeted with the warmest welcome.

"Who are you and what do you want?" snapped the guard.

"I have a message for the Heir of Isildur!" Legolas called back. He had no idea whether Boromir would live or die and did not wish to throw away any chance that the man might have wasting time in a useless conversation. "I believe it might help him in his fight against the Dark Lord. I also have the Lord Boromir here who is in urgent need of medical attention."

"One would not expect such compassion from a servant of Sauron," sneered another guard, who had no doubt recognised Legolas.

"Do you want Lord Boromir to die or not?" Legolas shouted, his anger and panic finally getting the better of him.

There was muttering above him which Legolas probably could have heard if he had listened, but he was far more interested in the sound of the gates opening. As soon as the space between the doors was wide enough, he shot through and raced through the city.

He reached the citadel with Eowyn in tow just as Aragorn was coming out into the courtyard.

"What, in all of Arda, is going on?" he asked incredulously as Legolas dismounted and the guards from the gate rode in.

"My lord, I'm sorry," spluttered one. "We tried to catch him but he was just-"

Aragorn raised a hand to silence the blubbering soldiers, and walked over to where Boromir was being pulled down off the black stallion by Legolas. As soon as he saw the state of the semi-conscious man, he panicked.

"You," he pointed at the guard who had spoken, "get the healers. You," he pointed to the guard who had recognised Legolas at the gate, "get Lord Denethor, _right now!_ And Legolas, explain to me very quickly and very carefully what on _earth _happened."

"What do you think happened, Aragorn! I left Sauron, so he took it out on Boromir!"

There was a pause, before Aragorn raised a single eyebrow to Legolas. "What?"

"Due to extremely unrelated circumstances, I left Sauron!"

"Really?" Aragorn asked sceptically.

"What do you mean, '_really?_'"

"How do I know that you really _did _leave Sauron? How do I know that you didn't do this yourself?"

Legolas glared at him, his expression morphing into one of barely concealed indignation. "If I _was_ still working for Sauron, why am I here now? If I _had_ done this, why would I be here, trying to save Boromir's life?"

It was at that point that the healers arrived, carrying a stretcher. Neither man nor elf noticed one of them swear as Boromir was lifted onto the stretcher, as Aragorn was shouting over it at Legolas.

"Well, how do I know that you aren't still working for Sauron?"

Legolas gave out a cry of exasperation. "Have you heard _nothing_ that I have told you over the past few days? _None of Sauron's forces can touch the Fellowship while I work for him!_ So if I was still working for Sauron, then how, pray, would Boromir have sustained these injuries? You never listen to reason, just like the rest of your kind!"

Aragorn glared at Legolas, unable to disregard the blatant insult. "You _insolent..._ You know what? I don't have time for this right now. But let me assure you, this is _not_ over!" Aragorn stormed after the healers who were carrying Boromir to the Houses of Healing.

Legolas opened his mouth, but closed it when Boromir emitted a yell of pain, before shaking his head and following Aragorn.

* * *

Boromir was barely conscious of anything. He was aware of an argument going on above his head, but he had no idea what it was about. He had slipped into darkness, and awoken to hear shouting that he couldn't make sense of. It was almost silent compared to the fire that was roaring in his head.

Somehow, he had forgotten the pain, but it returned with a vengeance when a group of people picked him up and moved him somewhere. He bit back the cry that threatened to break loose.

He started thinking back to what had happened in the run-up to this, if only to take his mind off the pain. The first thing he remembered were the words of Legolas in his mind.

"_It was your father. Your brother didn't deserve to be treated like that. __It was a terrible way to spend your life. I'd been watching his futile attempts at impressing your father, and I pitied him. So I gave him what he deserved: a quick and relatively painless way out of this life. He's better off dead."_

Boromir felt a surge of rage as these words echoed through his mind. Firstly, the rage was targeted at Legolas, for saying such things about his father. But then, his anger turned to his father. If that really _was_ the reason why Legolas killed Faramir, then, whether the motives made sense to him or no, it was his father's fault that Faramir now lay in a tomb.

With a sudden jolt, a cry of pain escaped him and he was snapped out of his reverie. He became acutely aware of the pain coursing through his body. With every gust of wind, it seemed that the fire continued to burn inside him, under his skin. It penetrated his head, the constant pain clouding his vision as he descended into darkness.

* * *

Gimli all but ran down the hall in little more than trousers and a linen nightshirt. He had not been thrilled when Merry woke him, but after the hobbit's motivations were revealed, he had practically thrown himself out of bed.

He burst through the door, panic clouding his fury at whoever had done this, and his eyes immediately found Boromir. Being the son of the Steward, the man's standing entitled him to his own private room, and the place was filled with the remainder of the Fellowship, save Frodo, who hadn't been seen since his arrival in the citadel, Denethor, Théoden, Éomer, and multiple healers.

That, however, was nothing to Boromir's appearance. His face was pale, and he was quite clearly unconscious as he lay under a white coverlet, and for that, Gimli was grateful. Because the amount of pain that the wounds covering every inch of his body was something that Gimli preferred not to contemplate.

The wrecks of his clothes lay discarded in a heap in the far corner, showing burns on what was visible of his torso. Some of the burns (on his face mainly) were red, and the skin was raw and shiny, in some places the skin had burst open, revealing burned flesh, and in some places, the skin and flesh was blackened and had carbonised completely. Gimli shuddered as his eyes travelled over these particular injuries.

"W-What _happened?_" Gimli finally managed to choke out.

"Sauron was very, _very_ angry," came a voice from behind the door.

The whole room simultaneously jumped. Standing in a shadowy corner by the door, completely unnoticed by everyone, stood Legolas.

"_What_ is he doing here?" asked Gimli through gritted teeth, anger radiating from him in waves.

"I was going to ask the same question," Aragorn replied, determined to keep as much venom in his voice as possible. "Why are you here, _elf?_"

Legolas didn't so much as wince at the open hostility. "I've told you before, _Aragorn_," Legolas' tone matched his best friend's, "I left Sauron. I'm here because I cannot bear to be a slave to that monster any more. I saw no reason why I should have stayed behind, so I left."

There was a sceptical huff from Gimli.

"I know it's going to take time for you to trust me, but let me say this – I had _nothing_ to do with Boromir's attack. I left beforehand, unaware that Boromir was in the camp."

"Why was he in the camp?" asked Gandalf.

"As to that, Mithrandir, I cannot say. That is a question that only Boromir can answer. However, it was only after I left that I heard Boromir cry out with pain. So I went back, and did all I could to get Boromir out of there."

"Who was the rider who was with you?" Aragorn asked, not convinced by Legolas' story.

"What?"

"The guards on the gate said there were two horses. Who was riding the second horse?"

"Oh, the girl from Rohan?"

"Rohan?" asked Éomer incredulously.

"Yes, the girl from Rohan. She was the reason why I left Sauron."

"Who was this girl?" Éomer pressed.

"Why?" Legolas finally faced him. "What is she to you?"

"You will tell me the name of this girl or I swear I will use your traitorous blood to paint my walls back in Edoras."

"You would not be able to get within a metre of me without my permission with your head still attached to your neck," Legolas snapped, drawing one of his knives. "But as for the girl's name, I think she said it was Eowel, or Eorlin-"

"Eowyn?"

"Yes, that was it," Legolas replied nonchalantly, before sheathing his knife.

Éomer suddenly ran to the door, ignoring the concerned glances shot to him by most of the rest of the room. Legolas shot him a slightly amused glance as the door burst open, before turning back to the others.

"I have a question," Denethor said suddenly, getting to his feet. "Why should we believe any word formed by your _lying_, _traitorous_ tongue?"

Legolas raised an eyebrow.

"He's already betrayed us once," Denethor continued as he walked towards Legolas. "And then, after that, he double-crossed Sauron. Who's to say that he won't change sides once more? How do we know that he won't _triple_-cross us?"

"Why don't you just _say_ it?" Legolas hissed, as Denethor stood in front of him.

"_HE IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEATH OF MY SON!_" Denethor screamed.

"No..." A voice gasped from the middle of the room.

Everyone stared at Boromir. Even Legolas allowed a hint of curiosity to slip past his impassive mask.

"He isn't..." Boromir gasped. "You are..."

Denethor rushed to his eldest, now only, son, and brushed away a stray lock of hair that had fallen across his face.

"Shh, don't speak..." Denethor practically begged Boromir. "Save your strength..."

"No... you need... to understand..." Boromir gasped.

"Whatever it is, it can wait until you are recovered."

"No... it cannot..."

Denethor gazed pleadingly at his son, willing Boromir to fall silent. However, he had no such luck.

"Faramir's death... was... your... fault..."

Boromir collapsed into the pillows, his eyes glazing over.

The room fell utterly silent, staring at Boromir's now lifeless form.

"No..." Denethor was the first to break the silence. "No... No, no, no, no-"

"Denethor…" Aragorn said, concern filling his voice.

"_NO!_" screamed Denethor. Tears fell thick and fast down his face, and he collapsed, sobbing. He would have fallen to the floor in a crumpled heap had Aragorn not caught him just before he hit the floor. The blanket of shock that had fallen over the room seemed to crack, the cry from Denethor acting like a trigger that exploded the grief in the room. Merry and Pippin were forced to choke back sobs as Gimli grasped them and pulled them into a tight embrace. Sam blinked out tears, lowering his head, as though ashamed to let the world see him cry. Even Legolas lowered his head in a respectful gesture.

"_YOU!_" Denethor screamed, standing up and pointing a finger accusingly at Legolas. The elf raised his head, a quizzical expression on his face betraying his surprise. "You did this! It's your fault that my son... is... _dead!_"

"I swear, I didn't have anything to do with this!" Legolas shouted back, and beneath all the outrage, there was something else there... _grief?_

"You turned my son against me, and now, because of your actions, my line has ended!"

"I... did not wish for this to happen..." Legolas muttered.

"You killed Faramir..." Denethor choked out. "And then, you turned Boromir against me... and then, not content with that, you _killed him!_ You... _killed_... my heir... my firstborn son... my Boromir..."

Legolas' cool mask suddenly broke, and for an instant, the room could see a flash of Legolas' emotions. Grief, regret, despair, panic... but then Legolas turned and ran straight out of the room.

"That's right, _run!_" Denethor yelled. "You'd better run, because when I next see you, I'll kill you! I swear, I'll _KILL YOU!_"


	17. First to Trust

First to Trust

Gimli decided to slip surreptitiously out of the room. He sensed that between Denethor sobbing over his last child's body and Aragorn glaring after Legolas, he wasn't doing anything useful here. So he left, and decided to go outside into the courtyard.

He could tell dawn was approaching. The sky had lightened from a pitch-black to a deep, ultramarine blue. Wind blew through the White Tree, but Gimli had no interest in such botanical features. He went to look towards the east side of the city, and stared into the sky which was lightening on this side. Perhaps he noticed this because he wanted more than anything _not_ to face the grief that he knew dwelt within him.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a sob. He turned, startled, to notice, sitting on the battlements, head buried deep in his hands, Legolas.

Gimli cautiously approached the elf, who was turned away from him. He now saw just exactly what effect his forced servitude of Sauron had done to the creature. He saw the effects that Boromir's death had had on the elf, and just how good his mask had been, just how strong his guard would have needed to be, to conceal his true emotions.

"Hello, Gimli," Legolas whispered, trying, and failing, to keep a note of misery out of his voice as he raised his head.

Gimli elected to stay silent.

"I'm sorry," the elf continued. "I'm so sorry. For everything." Legolas lowered his head into his palms, and his tears resumed.

Gimli, without uttering a word, leant against the battlements next to him.

"You must hate me," Legolas said, raising his head again and turning his tear-stained face to the dwarf.

"I don't hate you," Gimli spoke abruptly before he could stop himself. "You made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Never one as big as this," Legolas said bitterly.

There was an awkward pause, where the silence stretched between them like a chasm. All the events of the past few days seemed to lie down between them, more effective at separating them than the sea.

"You know, I just wanted to do something _right_," Legolas finally broke the silence, his words acting like a bridge between the two of them. "I failed Merry and Pippin at Amon Hen, so I bought their lives with my dignity. It seemed like a small price to pay at the time. But then... then I thought I could save Frodo by staying with Sauron, but all I did was push him away from me. And when I left Sauron, I had the simple task of getting Boromir out safely. But I couldn't even do _that_ right. I arrived too late. And because of my inability to act quickly enough, one of my friends is _dead._" His whole body sagged with renewed sobs.

"You did what you thought was right," Gimli breathed.

"All I've done is made a huge mess of _everything!_" Legolas choked out, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. "I've killed one of my friends, turned my best friend against me, now _nobody_ trusts me and I'm stuck in the middle of a siege which if I should never have been a part of."

"_I _still trust you," Gimli said quietly – so quietly that it was only Legolas' supernatural hearing that caused the elf to pick it up. Said elf fell silent, tears immediately stemmed by the concept that even after everything that he had done, he might still have a friend.

"Do you?" Legolas asked, shocked.

"I _want_ to, at least," Gimli continued. "I want, more than I wish to see the living beauty of the Lady Galadriel again, to believe that you have come back to us."

Legolas spared him a sad smile. It wasn't like the cold grin that had featured on his face when he was with Sauron. It was genuine, albeit tinged with sadness, but he looked happier than he had done in days, his eyes regaining some of the sparkle that they had had in Lothlórien.

"I do not believe that anyone hates you," Gimli continued. "They are angry with you, certainly, and with good reason. You turned against us, you handed the Ring over to Sauron, you tried to _kill_ Aragorn, but the best healer is time. Eventually whatever bad feelings will fade or grow stale, and your actions will pass into distant memory. They'll trust you again, if you just prove yourself worthy of it."

At this, Legolas laughed. "You know, Gimli, for a dwarf, you can be remarkably wise."

This earned the elf a cold glare.

"Anyway, I need to go," Gimli said, as the sun finally broke over the horizon, bathing them all in a warm orange light, and streaking the sky with a multitude of colours. "Aragorn will be wondering where I am."

* * *

Aragorn was so absorbed in his thoughts that he barely noticed the being of half his size run headlong into him.

"Aragorn!" snapped Gimli irritably. "Firstly, would you watch where you're going? And secondly, you really need to talk to Legolas."

"Have you seen him?" Aragorn asked, relieved.

"Yes, and believe me when I say that he is... devastated."

"Are you sure that he really _was_ devastated? He's fooled us all before."

"I do not think that _anyone_ could be that good an actor," Gimli shot back witheringly. "Especially an elf."

"Where is he?" Aragorn asked, getting back to his original mission.

"He was just outside – oh, there he is!"

At that exact moment, Legolas had walked in, and there was no shred of evidence that he had just had an emotional breakdown. His eyes had gone from their bloodshot state back to their now-normal, hardened state, whatever tears had fallen down his face had been gone. His face was the epitome of indifference.

"Aragorn, I-"

"Legolas, you need to leave Gondor," Aragorn cut sharply over whatever the elf was about to say.

"_What?_" Gimli spat out incredulously. Legolas remained silent, expressing his surprise by arching one eyebrow.

"It's as much for you as for anyone else."

"Aragorn, have you heard nothing that I have told you?" Gimli pressed urgently. "Legolas has changed!"

"Be that as it may, just because you trust him does _not_ mean that everyone else will," Aragorn spoke over Gimli. "The men of Gondor will not fight alongside you, Legolas, and Denethor has threatened to kill you. I have already stopped him from attacking you once-"

"Yes, because you need me," Legolas finally spoke, his voice laden with arrogance. Gimli stared at him as he delivered this phrase, wondering who exactly he had seen in the courtyard, because this Legolas was different. He was currently facing the same Legolas who had turned against them, hardened and cold.

"Oh, and why do I need you?" Aragorn matched his former friend's tone.

"Because I know exactly what Sauron was planning. I've been inside his camp, I was deep in his councils. I know what his most lethal weapons are, and I promise you, you do _not_ want to go up against them unprepared. I know what each important soldier's unique fighting style is. I know the weaknesses in Sauron's army, and I know how to exploit them. I know everything you need to win this war. You do _not _want to throw that knowledge away."

Aragorn stared at Legolas, quite clearly furious. It seemed to Gimli that there was a strong battle of wills going on between the two, and Aragorn was forced to weigh up the advantages of having Legolas on their side against the tension he knew it would create.

"Fine," Aragorn snapped as he yielded. "But on your own head be it."

As the pair walked away, Gimli stood still in the corridor, staring after them, wondering just when it was that Legolas had been acting.


	18. Gondor's Stratagem

Gondor's Stratagem

"I can only tell you what Sauron's plan _would_ have been," Legolas explained to the room at large. "If he has any form of intelligence he will guess that I have told you and abandon that strategy."

Aragorn had reluctantly gathered some even more reluctant people to listen to Legolas' information. The people present were himself, Legolas, Gandalf, Gimli, Théoden, Éomer, and Denethor.

"Well, what good is that?" Denethor snapped.

"Because at the very least we will know what he will not do," Gimli shot back.

"His plan was to send his most lethal servants inside the city and take the gates to each of the levels out, rendering whatever defences we put over them almost completely pointless."

"Like you did?" Éomer asked sarcastically.

"Yes, like I did," Legolas replied, brushing off the open hostility coming towards him, the only indicator that he had noticed it a slight hint of impatience in his tone. "You would do well to strengthen the gates both from the inside and the outside."

"And station soldiers all along the wall insuring that nobody can get into the city by climbing over them," Théoden suggested.

"Who said anything about climbing?" Legolas asked, his blatant confusion apparent.

"Well how else are they going to get in?"

"Their steeds are like nothing I have ever seen," Legolas explained. "They are like a cross between a bat and a lizard. They can fly."

"Ok, so we station archers on top of the walls to shoot them down," Aragorn said.

"No," Legolas corrected.

"Why not?" Aragorn asked, his tone matching Legolas'.

"Because the creatures that ride these steeds are the Nazgûl. Whatever archers are stationed on the walls would be annihilated completely by the end of the first hour. The Witch-King may be dead, as a parting gift from Boromir, but the Nazgûl are still strong, and they are getting stronger by the hour. Anybody left in the open when they are unleashed will not stand a chance."

"So what do you suggest?" Gandalf asked. "We cannot let them run riot over the city, can we?"

"The good news is that Sauron is reluctant to send out the Nazgûl until he has no other option, and I'm sure that _that_ will be consistent through whatever plans he made. But when he _does_, it would be wise to station archers in tall buildings, and reinforce those buildings against catapults."

"He's been smart," Denethor observed. "By taking the sky from us, he has ensured that we cannot be left in the open, and his machines of war have deterred us from staying inside. What we really need is a cave of some sort."

"Even that would be dangerous," Legolas replied. "Sauron was also planning on digging tunnels under the wall, although I'm uncertain as to whether he abandoned that idea."

"So he's attacking from above and below," Aragorn pointed out.

"And from the middle," Legolas added. "He has explosive substances that he will use to blast holes in the wall, and eventually he will use it to tear down the wall. Whatever plan he uses, I am certain that explosions will play a huge part in it. He also has a battering ram in the shape of a wolf, which the orcs have affectionately named '_Grond_.' Your gate will not stand a chance unless it is barricaded, reinforced, and preferably replaced with rock that will not move for anything."

"So we barricade the gate, put something on the walls to ensure that orcs cannot get within ten metres of it, reinforce the floor so orcs cannot push their way up through the paving stones should they try to tunnel beneath the city, reinforce tall buildings, and all the while remaining inside until the Nazgûl are shot down because they will shred anyone and anything that is left in the open when they are unleashed?" Gimli summed up. "Why does this sound impossible?"

"Because it basically is," Legolas replied. "That's why he designed the strategy. And don't forget the Ring. Sauron has the power to wield it. And it has been estranged from its master for many long years. It has its own power, which will have strengthened in the past years. It has power s that I'm not sure even Sauron knows. It is dangerous, and Sauron's army is strengthening because of it-"

He was cut off by an ear-splitting shriek from outside, and a shadow passed over the windows briefly, obliterating whatever natural light came into the room. When the shadow passed, the light filtering into the room had dimmed considerably.

They rushed outside, to see nine winged creatures flitting around the buildings, sweeping low over the walls, colliding with soldiers who later lay dead on the ground.

"I thought you said the Witch-King was dead..." Denethor muttered.

"He was!" Legolas hissed, confusion colouring his voice. "Boromir killed him!"

"Then tell me," Éomer ground out angrily through gritted teeth as he stared at the sky, "Why are there nine wraiths?"

Legolas didn't answer – he couldn't find one.

"Why is the Witch-King wreaking havoc on the city?"

Again, Legolas didn't have an answer.

"Why is the Witch-King still alive?"

Still all Éomer was met with was silence.

"_Answer me!_" Éomer yelled, his panic getting the better of him.

"They called him the Necromancer," Legolas finally replied slowly. "They called him the Necromancer because he experimented with death. Maybe he found a way to conquer it... With the power of the Ring, I have no doubt that he found a way to bring people back to life."


	19. My Kingdom for My Pride

My Kingdom for My Pride

Screams began echoing all around them, startling them all into action.

"Get the archers on the walls," Aragorn ordered. "We will bring these demons of Sauron down. Whatever the cost."

"Aragorn!" Legolas yelled indignantly. "You can't! You'll kill them all!"

"This is _war,_ elf!" Aragorn yelled back, equally angry. "In war, people die for the good of their country!"

Legolas tried not to show how much the comment had hurt, focusing his efforts on forcing the man to see sense. "They aren't dying for the good of their _country!_ They'll be killed for no reason at all! You heard what I said-"

"What I _heard_ was a suggestion from somebody whose loyalties are doubtful! And if you recall, _I'm_ the heir to the throne of Gondor, not you. So we are doing this my way!"

Legolas wanted nothing more than to punch the man in the face, in a vague hope of knocking some sense into his friend.

"Oh, you _stupid_,_ stubborn, obsolete IDIOT!_" Legolas screamed. "You would kill your own soldiers for the sake of your pride? Some great ruler you turned out to be! And to think that once upon a time I thought you a great-"

He was cut off by a hoarse scream, and a black leathery creature swooped low over them.

Once the group had recovered, Legolas glared angrily at Aragorn. "You know what," he snapped. "Do whatever you wish. It's your kingdom after all. And if you want to throw it away for the sake of your pride, then it's not for me to tell you any different."

He spun on his heel, and stormed away.

* * *

Aragorn cast the retreating figure a dark look.

"We have to get the troops together," Aragorn said abruptly. "Legolas may be an insufferable idiot, but he was right about the fact that anyone out in the open is as good as dead. Gandalf, will you go to the wall and see what you can do there?"

The wizard nodded, understanding the request, before whistling for Shadowfax.

"Théoden, assemble your men at the gate. I have a horrible feeling we're going to need them there before long."

"What about on the walls? Will you need help there?"

Aragorn shook his head. "They'll be more useful at the gate. Now Denethor, I suggest you wait in the Citadel until such a time that-"

"What? Because I have something to live for?" Denethor was outraged. "Your _friend_ took care of my sons, and now that you have come I need not stay alive for my kingdom!"

Aragorn huffed impatiently. "Fine, do what you will. Gimli, you need to- Gimli?"

He just noticed that the dwarf was no longer in their midst. He glanced around briefly, just to assert that he was not simply behind him, before moving on.

"Alright, Théoden, Éomer, I'll meet you at the gate."

They nodded, before turning towards the stables.

* * *

Legolas stood, absolutely furious, staring out over the city. Chaos reigned as stones began crashing into buildings. And Aragorn was still refusing to listen to him.

"You should help him," came a voice from behind him.

Legolas chose not to face Gimli, despite the fact that he knew that the dwarf wanted nothing more than for him to turn around.

"Aragorn has made it _very_ clear that he does not need it," Legolas said coolly.

"No, he made it very clear that he does not _want_ it," Gimli answered patiently. "However, he will need it before the end. We all will."

Legolas moved his gaze from the city to the army waiting beyond the walls, before finally turning it to the creatures who had taken over the sky. He watched as one of them swooped down on a young child, whose mother looked on, completely helpless as the child was sent sprawling onto the floor. Something stirred within him – a briefly forgotten pity. No matter how insane Legolas thought their king was, these people didn't deserve to pay the price for it. He turned around, and made one final request to the dwarf.

"Ride with me."

* * *

Aragorn ran up the stairs onto the battlements, praying that he would find Gandalf there.

"Milord!" yelled one of the archers on the wall.

Aragorn cast him a glance.

"Milord, we can't hold them!" the man screamed. "We don't stand a chance against them! Nothing we can do will make even the slightest dent in their numbers! We shoot them down but they just get right back up again!"

Aragorn stared silently out over the battlefield.

"Milord, what do we do?" the archer pressed urgently. "We can't hold them at bay!"

"We have to find a way of slowing them down," Aragorn suddenly said decisively. "Find some sort of way of preventing them from reaching the wall."

"Like what?"

"Fire," Aragorn suggested. "Light some sort of fire to stop them from reaching the gate."

The man nodded, before running off to make preparations for what Aragorn believed to be their only hope.

* * *

"Elf, for the love of all things good, SLOW DOWN!"

Gimli was clinging onto Legolas' midriff as Legolas' horse was galloping at full speed through the streets. Gimli had become accustomed to riding with a saddle, and usually at much slower speeds, that Legolas' urgency combined with his first experience of riding elf-fashion had meant that he was extremely uncomfortable, and if he was honest with himself, quite scared.

Legolas, however, had far more pressing things on his mind than a dwarf scared of horses. Aragorn's suggestion of putting archers on the walls was not going to lead anywhere good as long as the Nazgûl were flying above them. So his priority was to take out the wraiths before the wraiths took out anyone else.

As one of the giant bat-like creatures swooped low over them, Legolas whistled loudly. The wraith riding it paused, turning its ride around, before glaring down at Legolas. Legolas' horse suddenly reared up, and Gimli, caught unawares, lost his seat and grip, and fell backwards onto the floor, cursing. Legolas however kept the wraith's attention focused on himself, as the black stallion he had stolen from Sauron continued to dance around, agitating the wraith and steed alike.

"Come on," Legolas muttered to the shadow under his breath. "Come on and finish what we started long ago."

Suddenly the huge bat-like beast shot forwards, like a giant black dart, and Legolas galloped off. He led the Nazgûl over one of the side streets, swerving to avoid the wraith's repeated attempts at catching him in his steed's claws.

Legolas finally broke out into a small deserted square, that had clearly once been a market before a flaming rock had come and crushed it. Now all it was was a charred shell, the occasional stall still smouldering as the cold winds blew over it. Legolas spun in his seat, drawing his bow and fitting an arrow into it faster than most eyes could follow. He let the arrow fly, and it hit the winged beast in the chest as it swooped low over him. With a hoarse scream the creature crashed into the ground, and the Nazgûl stormed over, having dismounted before the winged creature hit the floor, landing with far more grace than its steed.

"You will regret that, _Thranduillion!_" hissed the Nazgûl as Legolas slipped from his own horse. It was only then that Legolas realised that this was indeed his old (and until recently, dead) friend, the Witch-King.

"Aren't you meant to be dead?" Legolas responded conversationally.

"You know better than most of the power of my master," the Witch-King said. "You know better than most that it is futile to resist."

"Neither you nor your _master_ understand that power alone does not make a ruler. Yes, fear is a strong emotion, but love is far stronger."

"_Love!_" the Witch-King threw back his head and laughed - a hoarse, cold sound that chilled the elf to the core. "What has _love_ ever done for anyone? What power does _love_ hold compared to the power my master possesses? You have felt it, Thranduillion. You know what you could do with that power!"

Something stirred inside Legolas. A spark of desire that was long ago suppressed, buried, forgotten. He had felt it when he first laid eyes on the Ring, in the House of Elrond.

"You know you want it," the Witch-King continued. "Come back to my master, _your_ master, and some of that power will be yours. He will forgive you for deserting us once – you had been blinded, tricked by the words of that _king!_ He is a fool. I know he is. You know it too."

"You speak of fools," Legolas muttered coldly, "yet you are a bigger fool than any if you believe that I will forsake my friends again for the sake of a _trinket!_"

Legolas threw himself at the Witch-King, who raised his sword to defend himself from the white knives that Legolas had drawn. There was an echoing scream of rage from the Witch-King as their weapons collided with a sickening clash.

* * *

"Bring it down! Bring it down!" Aragorn yelled at the men, who were shooting at a troll who had ended up on the battlements after a siege tower had smashed against the wall.

"Aragorn!" called Gandalf, who was standing a short distance away, after he dispatched one of the many orcs who had swarmed over the walls behind the troll. When the wizard had the man's full attention, he nodded over the gates to where a huge structure was being wheeled towards the gate.

The orcs beyond the walls had separated to form a path for what seemed to be a giant metal sculpture of a wolf, hanging from a wooden frame, being pushed along the path by trolls. They started chanting as it was pushed closer to the gate.

"May the Valar have mercy on our souls," Aragorn whispered.

"Théoden! Éomer!" Gandalf called from the walls to the Rohirrim taking care of the orcs that had slipped through the walls. "Get ready-"

Before he could finish the sentence, the battering ram had slammed into the gate. It didn't break through, but the entire walls shook with the blow.

"Take out the trolls!" Aragorn screamed frantically. "Ignore the orcs, take out the trolls!"

Arrows began to rain down from the walls onto the trolls. Some hit, some missed, and all had an equally negligible effect on the creatures.

The battering ram smashed into the gates for a second time, more forcefully than the first. Finally, the hailstorm of arrows started to have an effect on one of the trolls, the one who was pushing the wolf into the gate. It began to stagger as arrow after arrow hit it, finally piercing its armour and tearing through its thick hide as the arrows landed in it. It began to roar and scream until at last, overcome, it toppled over, hitting the ground, quite clearly dead.

The archers turned their attention to the others, worried that another would take the dead troll's place. However, none seemed to show any inclination to do so – a fact that was pondered over very little, until the dead troll twitched.

It began to crawl slowly to its knees, before pushing itself to its feet. Aragorn stared at it in horror. He heard men muttering at the scene before them.

"I thought it was dead!"

"We killed it! No creature could survive that!"

"What new sorcery _is_ this?"

As it finally regained its footing under heavy fire, it resumed its position at the back of the battering ram. This time, when the wolf's head struck the gate, its aim was true and the top half of the gate shattered. It took one last strike to break open the rest of the gate.

It was only then that Aragorn heard what the orcs had been chanting.

"_Grond!_"

Aragorn's heart sunk as he remembered what had been said earlier.

_Legolas hadn't been lying._

* * *

Gimli heard the gate smash, but decided that Legolas needed his help more. He ran through the streets, uncertain of where Legolas had vanished off to.

More by luck than by skill, he came across the market where Legolas was fighting the Witch-King. Their fight was a well-practised dance, each anticipating the next move of their partner and preparing for it, both moving with a lethal grace that held some kind of grotesque beauty. Gimli watched, transfixed by their movements that seemed almost hypnotic.

Legolas pushed himself from the Witch-King's sword, his own knives opening out. However, rather than moving back, he spun around, the knife held in his right hand nearly breaking through the Witch-King's defence as he aimed it at the wraith's side. When his right knife met the sword, he followed up with his left, but was thrown off his balance as the Witch-King pushed his right knife away, and Legolas' graceful spin was turned into a wild swipe as he struggled to regain his balance.

The Witch-King laughed again as he began to walk back away from the elf as Legolas landed on his side in the dirt.

"You seek to defend your so-called _friends_ in their useless quest to save this city of the dying race of Numenor," the Witch-King spoke, in a voice that carried over the square, "but what will they give you in return? What have they _ever_ given you in return?"

Legolas glared at the Witch-King as he pushed himself to his feet.

"Your '_friends_' don't even _trust_ you!" the Witch-King snapped. "They think you're _nothing_ but a lying coward, a _traitor!_"

"You know _nothing_ of what they think," Legolas replied, his voice dripping with suppressed rage.

"Oh really? They think you betrayed them, and face it, _you did!_ However, you will find that your master-"

"_HE IS NOT MY MASTER!_" Legolas screamed.

"He could be. He will be merciful. You could return to him. You could save your pathetic Fellowship from this fate of certain death. You could save them from the wrath of the Dark Lord, even though they do not deserve it. All you need to do is come back to the right side."

Legolas paused. Gimli could see, even from a distance, that Legolas was shaking with anger, although whether his anger was at the Witch-King or at the Fellowship Gimli could not tell.

"Come back to us, and all the power that you desire, all your friends, everything you ever wanted could be yours. Even the friends that abandoned you. Even those that left you for dead."

Gimli could not see it, but tears had begun to well up inside his eyes.

"My master has seen your heart. All your fears, all your doubts surrounding the one you call Aragorn. They are true. He abandoned you to Mordor. My master would _never_ do that. He will forgive you."

Gimli could see Legolas thinking it over. He knew that if he were to act, he had to act now.

The dwarf ran out into the courtyard.

"Legolas, he's lying!"

The Witch-King turned to face him, and Legolas used the temporary distraction to his advantage. He ran forwards, tackled the Witch-King, and knocked him down. The wraith raised his sword, but Legolas grabbed the arm, and wrenched the sword free. He got to his feet, and pointed the Morgul blade at the Witch-King's throat.

"Somebody does still trust me," Legolas said, fury in his voice, before plunging the sword into the wraith's hood.

The sword exploded into fragments, as the Witch-King let out a scream which Legolas had heard once before in the camp, after Boromir had stabbed the wraith for the first time. The hilt fell from Legolas' hands, landing on top of the now-shapeless robes that had once been the Witch-King.

"Are you alright?" Gimli said, running towards Legolas.

The truth was that Legolas was far from alright. He could not shake off the Witch-King's words, the moment of truth in the lies. However, he nodded, trying to put up the mask that he was now so used to using, but he knew Gimli could see right through that. Whatever mask he wore was now broken, and Gimli saw that perhaps part of the mask had now become mixed permanently in with the elf's character.

However, before either could say anything more, they heard shouts of both Aragorn and Gandalf.

"Retreat!"

"Pull back!"

"Protect the Citadel!"

Without a word to each other, both ran to Legolas' horse, before they set off in the direction of the shouts.

* * *

He watched the city with amusement. He thought about just how easy it had been to break through their feeble defence. He could see, with his own vision surpassing that of an elf, the men of Minas Tirith running like ants from his own forces, fleeing like the cowards they were. He saw them run for the Citadel, shutting themselves in. Resistance may have been futile in the first place, but he could not help but laugh as their defence crumbled.

"Perhaps it's a good thing that I'm relieving you of your command, son of Arathorn," he mused. "You would have made a weak, pathetic ruler."

He watched as his former servant shut the gates, and he felt a slight irritation at the sight of the elf. He had killed his most useful servant for the second time. No matter, he would find the remains and bring the Witch-King back like he had the first time. Nothing would stop him from taking the city now.

Minas Tirith was his.


	20. Breaking Point

**A/N: Ok, purely for the reason that I'm an evil, sadistic, tension-loving madman, or woman, as the case may be, the chapters will rapidly decrease in length for most of the remainder of this story. However, the good news is that they take a lot less time to write so the time interval between chapters will also rapidly decrease in length - we are talking a couple of days between each chapters now.**

* * *

Breaking Point

The endless cackles of the orcs that swarmed around the citadel were distracting, to say the least. The few soldiers of Gondor and Rohan who had managed to get inside the relative sanctuary were busy building a barricade around the doors, while the others sat in silence, too absorbed in their own thoughts.

"This is all your fault," Legolas finally broke the silence, glaring at Aragorn.

"What do you mean, _my_ fault?" Aragorn's furious tone mimicked Legolas.

"Well, if you'd just _listened_ to me and done what I said-"

"Before today I had no basis of whether or not to trust you! Before today you had done _nothing_ to warrant my trust! And while we're on the subject of whose fault it is, what about _you?_"

"What did _I-_"

"Don't you _dare_ ask me what you did!" Aragorn hissed venomously. "You betrayed us, turned on us and went straight over to Sauron. You handed him the Ring. If you hadn't done that, we might not be in this situation! Frodo and Sam might still be on their quest, or even better, Sauron might be destroyed!"

"Everything I did was to protect you-"

"YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!"

A tense silence followed this, while everyone stared at Legolas, whose expression was growing darker and angrier by the second.

"You deserved that," Legolas whispered furiously, so quietly that Aragorn could barely hear it.

"What?" Aragorn replied, only slightly louder than Legolas. "How did I deserve it?"

Legolas remained silent.

"Come on!" Aragorn pressed, the volume of his voice rising with each syllable. "Let's hear the latest made-up justification of why the 'great and _bountiful_ Legolas' held a knife to my throat! Let's hear how Legolas can live with himself after trying to kill his best friend-"

"YOU LEFT ME!" Legolas shouted, tears springing into his eyes.

Aragorn was startled into silence.

"You... _left _me... You knew I'd been captured and you did nothing to help-"

"We chased after you-"

"Oh, a brief little tour of Rohan's fields? That constitutes as help, does it?"

"We didn't even know if you'd been captured-"

"But you found out in Edoras, didn't you?" Legolas pointed out. "And even after Merry and Pippin had returned, you still did nothing! You knew where I was, and you did _nothing!_ I spent _hours_, praying that you would come and help, but you didn't, did you? You just sat around doing NOTHING!"

And Gimli finally understood Legolas' cold demeanour around Aragorn. Because around that man, it wasn't just a mask, like it was around everyone else. Certainly, part of it was, but part of it was how he actually felt. And the part of it that _was_ a mask wasn't disguising guilt, as it was around the others in Minas Tirith. No, this facade was disguising a far more destructive emotion.

It was disguising rage.

The first thud on the door from the battering ram shook the barricade, but Aragorn was staring at Legolas with a mixture of shock, anger and guilt on his face.

"Sire! What do we do?" yelled one of the soldiers as the second attempt at breaking the doors, but Aragorn seemed not to hear him. He was locked in his own thoughts, staring at the broken echo of his best friend who had changed so much that he didn't even recognise him.

"Sire!" yelled the soldier again, more urgently this time as the orcish battering ram hit the doors again.

"Prepare to fight," Gandalf suggested, when he saw that Aragorn was in no state to give commands.

Legolas tore his gaze away from Aragorn's, before walking over to Gimli. Aragorn simply stared after Legolas, looking lost. He couldn't get the image of Legolas' tear-stained face out of his mind as he screamed the final word of his tirade. His voice, screaming '_you left me,_' so full of hurt, still rang in his ears.

As the doors burst open, Aragorn barely flinched. He ignored the anarchy that exploded around him. He barely noticed one of the orcs run straight for him, only to be shot down by an arrow coming from one of his own soldiers' bow. He didn't notice the member of the Tower Guard push him to one side, falling to a spear that had originally been intended for the long-exiled king. He couldn't hear the various shouts at him as two orcs grabbed his shoulders and marched him out of the citadel.


	21. Downfall

Downfall

Somewhere between the citadel and the Fields of Pelennor, Aragorn came to his senses. However, he made no move to fight as he was forced out of the ruined gates and onto his knees. He was later joined by Gandalf, Gimli, Legolas, and the hobbits. Denethor, Théoden and Éomer had fallen in the citadel.

"Well, well, well," came a voice that the hobbits and Legolas recognised. "The Fellowship of the Ring, reunited at last in the face of my victory."

Almost as one, the Fellowship got to their feet, casting looks of unwavering hatred at Sauron.

"However, you needn't all die," Sauron continued. "I am merciful. Provided that one _specific_ member of your 'Fellowship' joins me, you may all still live in this new age, serving me as I rise to exterminate the weak, the fools, those who stain the surface of Middle Earth."

"_You_ are the one who stains the surface of this land!" Gimli hissed.

Sauron turned to him. "Gimli, son of Gloin," the tyrant said softly. "I have heard of your feats. The courageous dwarf, who overcame prejudices to befriend an elf, dazzled by the enchantments of a sorceress. You are a fool. You are weak. So you will not join me, then?"

"We would rather die!"

Sauron laughed. "_'We'?_" he said. "You speak for yourself, but not for others. And in any event, I do not believe that choice is yours to make."

"Legolas agrees with him, don't you, Legolas?" Merry stated matter-of-factly, before turning to the elf for confirmation. "Don't you?"

All eyes swivelled to Legolas, who suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Legolas, you cannot seriously be thinking of going back to him?" Aragorn interjected.

"I believe that is exactly what he is thinking, '_my lord,_'" Sauron mocked.

"But you can't!" Gimli burst out. "You've changed! What about all those things you said to me? Did they mean _nothing?_"

All of these words seemed to pass over his head. In fact, he had not been properly listening since Sauron offered his proposal. A plan had begun to form in his head, but he was afraid of carrying it out. However, he couldn't let his friends die.

"Come back to me, Legolas," Sauron said temptingly. "I forgive you for leaving, you were deluded by these fools. I will reward you if you return."

Legolas hesitated.

"There is no other way to save your friends," Sauron said. "Come back to me."

_There was no other way._

"Come back to me," Sauron said.

"You were right," Legolas finally said. "They needn't all die."

He began to walk forwards, before Aragorn grasped his arm.

"Legolas, what are you doing?" he hissed.

"Putting something right that I never should have done!" Legolas hissed back, without looking at the man.

"What?"

Legolas wrenched his arm from Aragorn's grip, before walking forwards towards Sauron. The space between Legolas and Sauron didn't seem to be shrinking, while the space between the elf and the rest of the Fellowship seemed to span time itself.

"Legolas, you can't!" screamed Sam earnestly.

After what seemed like years, he finally reached Sauron. He pulled out one of his knives, before running it along his right hand, making a deep cut. He then extended his right arm out in front of him, offering the blood-soaked hand to the man who had once been his master, and soon would be again.


	22. The Destroyer

**A/N: Please, nobody kill me...**

The Destroyer

Gimli stared with numb shock at Legolas' outstretched hand. He watched the scene unfold before him, like it was a play, only he couldn't hear any sound over the explosion that had taken place inside his mind. His brain just couldn't take it in, couldn't take in the words that passed between Legolas and Sauron. His head was spinning, reeling from Legolas' second betrayal.

He really had believed that Legolas had changed. He really had believed that Legolas had come back to them, and Legolas had just cast aside his trust like it was rubbish. Maybe the Witch-King's words had had more effect on the elf than Gimli had originally thought. Maybe Legolas was simply tired of being met with open, undisguised hostility from his friends.

Gimli saw Aragorn fall to his knees beside him out of the corner of his eye. The man looked like he was crying tears of fury, screaming at the elf, but Gimli couldn't hear him. He was too transfixed by the sight of Legolas' palm, slick with his own blood, held out to the one who would destroy his home. He couldn't believe it. He began to focus on the details of Legolas' palm, if only to take his mind off the significance of the action. He watched a single drop of the deep crimson blood drip from his hand and land on the ground, sinking into the dirt. It seemed to Gimli that as the drop was swallowed up by the mud, the sound was turned back up to full volume with a deafening thud.

"...Their protection will resume?" Legolas was saying.

Sauron glanced over the elf's shoulders, his gaze flitting over each member of the Fellowship in turn.

"If you insist," Sauron said lightly.

"I do," Legolas growled.

"Very well."

"So we carry on as before?"

"Indeed," Sauron muttered, his tone expressing a slight hint of displeasure.

Legolas' gaze flitted to Sauron's own hand, and the tyrant raised it, before grasping Legolas' outstretched palm and shaking it.

"Then there is but one matter I wish to attend to," Legolas said softly without letting go, before his expression changed to one of unveiled fury. He raised the knife still in his left hand high above his head, the blade pointing at Sauron's.

Sauron would have been completely unflinching by this, however, one of the wraiths flanking Sauron acted on instinct, lunging forwards to the threatening elf, its own knife drawn.

"No!" Sauron yelled, throwing out a hand to stop the wraith, but it was too late.

The knife went straight into Legolas' chest, straight through the elf's heart before exiting through his back.

"NO!" screamed Aragorn, getting to his feet frantically, rushing towards Legolas, but Gandalf stopped him.

Legolas staggered back, gasping. His knife slipped from his raised hand, falling to the ground with a thud. He stared down at his chest, his hands moving slowly, shaking, to the wound. He fell to his knees, his head still bowed. He raised his head, and gave Sauron a triumphant smile, just to show Sauron who had really won in the end, before he fell forwards onto his face.

Gimli stared, transfixed, at the still form of Legolas on the ground, before something else captured his attention. Sauron, just after Legolas had been stabbed, had similarly gasped, horror-struck. He felt pain in his chest, like cold steel had just been thrust through it a thousand times over. Suddenly a burning sensation spread through his chest, emanating from his heart.

It spread throughout his body quickly, culminating around the Ring, as though drawn to it like a magnet. The Ring began to glow, and Sauron stared at the elf on the ground as Legolas gave him a triumphant smile. Sauron could read his face like an open book.

'_I may not have been able to outwit you, but I could outwit your servants._'

Just after Legolas fell forward, the Ring exploded violently, banishing the clouds that had sunk low overhead. The orcs fled from the burning sunlight, as the bright rays shone out from behind them.

Sauron suddenly began to burn, shaking as the cracks between his armour started to glow red, then yellow, and finally a bright, dazzling white, as the shadow was banished from him. His armour was suddenly glowing white, brought into the blazing inferno so bright it rivalled even the sun. Legolas' words, from so long ago, remained at the forefront of Sauron's mind, even at the very end.

"_Anything that is inflicted onto the Fellowship by any hand belonging to Mordor will also be inflicted onto you, but a thousand times worse._"

_Any_ of the Fellowship...

Suddenly, the ball of light exploded outwards like a supernova. Everyone still present shied away from it, including the wraiths who had remained. However, as the force blew outwards, the wraiths that remained seemed to burn as well in the explosion.

The force passed over them all, and as the bright light faded, Gimli could finally survey the damage of the scene in front of them. What he could see was Legolas, lying face down on the ground, surrounded by eight piles of ashes that were blowing away in the wind where the wraiths had stood, and, on the charred, scorched, blackened ground, a pile of armour, so familiar to them from many paintings, which they had seen so recently on the enemy of the free people of Middle Earth.

Sauron, the destroyer, had finally been destroyed.


	23. Forgiven

Forgiven

Aragorn wrenched himself free of Gandalf's grasp, and ran forwards to Legolas' still form. He turned the elf over, praying that Legolas would still be clinging onto life, even though in his heart he knew otherwise. Sauron wouldn't be dead if Legolas was alive...

He pulled Legolas onto his back, and gazed downwards. Legolas' face was white, his eyes still open, his face frozen in that last triumphant smile, tinged with sadness and regret.

"No..."

The uncrowned king's eyes travelled over the elf's wound, and as he was finally forced to face the truth, and with a loss of pride, he let out a stricken cry of unrestrained grief as he pulled his corpse into a tight embrace. Fresh tears of regret took the place of the old ones of anger, washing away the emotion that had been shed with them.

"Please," he begged softly through his tears. "Please, don't go, Legolas. Please, I'm so sorry. All those things I said to you, I didn't mean it. I was angry. Please forgive me, I'm so sorry. Everything turned out so wrong. Oh Legolas, please, don't go. Don't leave me here alone. Please, don't be... dead... PLEASE!"

Aragorn screamed the last word desperately as he shook the elf's dead body, desperately clinging onto Legolas. He didn't notice the rest of the Fellowship approach him, until Gandalf laid a comforting hand on the broken man's shoulder.

"Aragorn, he's gone."

"HE CANNOT BE GONE!" Aragorn screamed hoarsely. "I need him here! It was never meant to be this way around. I was meant to be the one to go, while he remained, sailing to the West!"

"He had to die though," Gandalf said softly. "It's better this way."

"No it isn't!" Aragorn sobbed. "How can it be, when everything has reversed from the way it should have been! He should never have been captured in the first place, he should never have been taken to Mordor, he should never have been forced to serve Sauron, he should never have been doubted by us, and he _NEVER SHOULD HAVE DIED!_"

"I am sorry, Aragorn."

Aragorn didn't respond, nor did he respond to the removal of Gandalf's hand as the Fellowship moved away.

"Come," Gandalf said to the man, but when he failed to get a response he decided not to push the issue. He briefly looked back, to see Aragorn shut the elf's eyes.

* * *

Aragorn stayed with Legolas until long after night had fallen, when Gandalf finally managed to coax him into returning to the ruined city. Miraculously, a large number of the citizens had escaped the orcs by hiding away in basements and cellars. However, the streets were deserted as Aragorn passed through them with Gandalf, although they were littered with signs that the clear-up had started, as carts filled with building materials lay outside ruined houses, man-made fires burnt in the streets, and makeshift rooms and tents had been set up around those that were too badly damaged to house anyone in them.

Aragorn was led back to the ruined citadel, which had been vacated. Instead somebody had set up a tent in the stone courtyard, next to the White Tree, which had begun to flower again. However, Aragorn chose not to enter the tent immediately, not prepared for the constant barrage of questions about his wellbeing from Gimli and the hobbits. He stayed outside, staring at the sky. He looked at the stars, and it seemed that one, directly above where Legolas lay, seemed to shine even brighter than all the others.

"Why, Legolas?" Aragorn whispered to the heavens. "Why did you have to leave me?"

"Aragorn, are you all right?" Frodo asked from behind him.

Aragorn looked at the hobbit who had left the tent. He seemed to have regained some of his old personality, yet Aragorn knew that Frodo would never fully recover from what had happened.

Aragorn shook his head. "But I will be," he said. "Eventually, I will be fine. Because no matter what, no matter how deep the wounds go, time does eventually heal everything."

"But it leaves scars," Frodo replied.

"Aye," Aragorn said. "But scars do not hurt. They simply serve as a reminder, so that you do not forget what happened."

Frodo nodded, before returning to the tent. Aragorn watched him go in. He knew that it would take time to get over what had happened, and he would never be able to forget the sacrifice that his best friend had made for Middle Earth. But he didn't want to forget, not really. He wanted to remember Legolas as a hero, not a traitor, but someone who had sacrificed his liberty for his friends, somebody who had eventually sacrificed his life to bring down Sauron. Yes, Legolas was a hero.

"Goodbye, Legolas," Aragorn breathed to the stars, before he turned and followed Frodo inside.

* * *

**A/N: So yeah, that was the last chapter, except for an epilogue that will be up in a couple of days. Also, I just want to say thanks for the mass of reviews that I got for the last chapter. I think that's the most reviews I've ever received for a single chapter in two days. I think I replied to most of them, except for the guest reviews. If I haven't replied to any review, it's not personal. It is either because you weren't logged in, or else I thought I already had replied and didn't want to annoy you by sending you two basically identical messages. Also, in the subject of reviews/thanks, I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed/added the story/me to their alerts/favourites, and especially to those people who have loyally reviewed every chapter as it came out. It really means a lot to me to know that people out there read my story and offer comments telling me what they think, or offering constructive criticism/lovely comments. :) **

**On a completely different topic, yes, Legolas is dead. However, if people want me to/if I have the time, I may write an alternative ending/sequel, after I've finished 'Unbroken Fellowship,' which is the other story I'm writing. Anyhoo, I think that's all I have to say, so I'll shut up now.**


	24. Epilogue

Epilogue

Two months passed before Aragorn was crowned king. In that time, Minas Tirith had been repaired to a standard that meant that the population had a permanent roof over their head, although perhaps not the most comfortable conditions to live in.

Aid had arrived swiftly shortly after Aragorn had sent out pleas. Representatives from every free kingdom of Middle Earth came to Gondor, (including the kingdoms that had not been privy to the cry for help,) just to confirm that Sauron had indeed been vanquished. All kingdoms save one.

No word about anything from anyone had come from Mirkwood. The messenger sent there had returned stating that everything seemed fine there, although the messenger had simply handed the letter containing Aragorn's account and request to one of the guards of the palace, who had made it quite clear that the King of Mirkwood was very busy and not to be disturbed and that visitors were quite unwelcome in the forest. _'Much the same as always,'_ Aragorn thought.

Except nothing was the same. Not anymore. The one who had plagued the forest for so many years was gone to the Valar knew where, the sole heir to the throne of Mirkwood had died bringing him down, and they were now in a new age of this world.

Legolas' body lay in a stone tomb, yet the tomb had not been sealed. Part of Aragorn was keeping the elf because he knew he ought to return it to Thranduil at some point, but part of him, (the least healthy part of him,) kept holding onto him because he couldn't bear to let go. Guilt and regret ate away at him every time he saw Legolas' body, every time he was reminded of how the elf had constantly tried to prove he had changed, how that desperation to do good had eventually cost Legolas his life, the life that never should have been extinguished. In short, Aragorn was blaming himself.

Of the orcs that had escaped the Sauron's destruction, the vast majority died soon after from starvation, now that their master was no longer there to supply food. The few that did manage to scavenge enough to survive did not survive long, as they were killed by men as they went in search of food more tasty than deer flesh.

The celebrations that took place in Minas Tirith following Sauron's downfall were marred with grief, as Sauron had brought Gondor to its knees. The Fellowship finally understood Boromir's reasoning for wanting to use the Ring to save the White City, they finally understood why the man's need had been so dire. Gondor had borne the brunt of the attack, and while the other lands were celebrating the destruction of their greatest foe, the families of Gondor were grieving. Those who had escaped the orcs were now confronted with losing wives, husbands, children and parents. There were families, like the Steward's, that had been completely obliterated in the siege, and the few that had survived now found themselves alone.

Eowyn, who had been among those to escape the pillage of Minas Tirith, returned to Edoras shortly after to take up her uncle's seat in the Golden Hall, burying the soldiers who had died at Minas Tirith outside the capital of Rohan.

Frodo had informed the rest of the Fellowship that he would not return to the Shire. Lady Arwen of Rivendell had sent a messenger to Gondor, telling Aragorn that she would not be sailing to the West, instead choosing to remain in Middle Earth. However, she offered Frodo her place on the last ship to Valinor, and, much to the dismay of Sam in particular, he had accepted.

* * *

It was the morning of the coronation when a herald announced that a representative of Mirkwood had arrived. Aragorn met with them in the courtyard, to be confronted by King Thranduil.

"King Thranduil," Aragorn said, inclining his head respectfully.

"Lord Aragorn," Thranduil replied, mimicking the gesture.

"You got my message then."

"About a month and a half ago," Thranduil responded coolly.

"You took your time."

"It is a long way from my realm to Gondor," Thranduil pointed out, his tone unchanged but his eyebrows raised to indicate his displeasure. "And I must confess, I was not sure whether or not I wanted to come, and when I decided that I would, we did not rush here. I was in no hurry to confirm what you said about my son."

"Your highness?" Aragorn asked quizzically, not quite understanding.

"Tell me, Lord Aragorn, if somebody told you that your son had died, and yet offered no proof, but you knew in your heart that they would not lie, would you hurry, desperate to confirm it, or would you cling onto the vain hope that perhaps just this once, they had made up some fictional story?"

Aragorn remained silent, unsure how to answer.

"May I see him please?" Thranduil asked.

Aragorn simply nodded bleakly, before guiding him towards the tomb. Thranduil dismissed the elven guards with a brief nod of his head.

The tomb was small and made of white marble, yet it was high enough to stand in. It was unguarded, and Aragorn simply pushed the door open, before leading the Elvenking inside.

Thranduil paused in the door, staring at the lifeless body that lay there. Without a word, Thranduil brushed past Aragorn, and walked slowly to gaze into his only son's white face.

"Legolas," Thranduil breathed. He shut his eyes, and allowed a tear to roll down his face. He took a deep breath in, before opening his eyes again, eyes that were now overflowing with tears, blurring his vision. Thranduil didn't wipe them away, he just let them fall.

"Why did he die, Aragorn?" Thranduil breathed, so quietly that all Aragorn could hear was his name.

"I'm sorry?"

"Why did my son die?" Thranduil repeated, his voice rising, showing sadness and anger. It was thick, and Aragorn could only sympathise with the Elvenking. After all, Legolas should have been immortal, and Thranduil was going to have to live with this loss for the rest of time. It was a hurt that he should never have had to bear.

"Aragorn," Thranduil said when the soon-to-be king did not answer, and Aragorn couldn't ignore the desperate plea that had crept into Thranduil's voice.

"He died... to save Middle Earth."

* * *

And it was true. For nobody ever forgot just how close Middle Earth had come to falling to Sauron. For if Gondor had fallen, none of the other free kingdoms would have had the strength to withstand the growing power of Mordor. And it was only the actions of Legolas, when all hope seemed lost, that saved Middle Earth from total ruin.

**THE END**


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